


Light in my life

by so_damn_Mishalicious



Series: Witchery AU goodness [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel!Jaskier, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Character, Bisexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Caring Jaskier | Dandelion, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Friends to Lovers, Gender, Good Parent Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Guardian Angels, Innocent Jaskier, Inspired by The Witcher, Jaskier is too pure in this, M/M, Not Beta Read, Serious Injuries, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Valdo Marx is a good guy, We Die Like Men, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23270011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/so_damn_Mishalicious/pseuds/so_damn_Mishalicious
Summary: Julian Alfred Pankratz died at the young age of just 16, succumbing to a severe fever. But Melitele is gracious and rewards his pure soul with a second chance.He is to bring joy to the people in these dark times and inspire hope in their hearts. Trained in his newfound powers and sent down in a proper transport, he is now traveling under the name of "Jaskier", the bard he had always wanted to be.He's set on going the extra mile on his mission, setting his sights on the most miserable soul around to help, feeling the pull of destiny drawing him in."Love the way you sit in the corner and brood."Who said Witchers don't deserve guardian angels?(Feat. Angel!Jaskier and our beloved Witcher Geralt)
Relationships: Coën & Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion & Vesemir, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witchery AU goodness [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686538
Comments: 134
Kudos: 1009
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I adore the creature!Jaskier fanfiction out there and somehow this came into my mind...
> 
> Warning: English is not my native language and I suck at descriptions as you know like people and things look, not beta read
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing as always
> 
> Enjoy! Kudos and feedback in the comments are appreciated ♡

He only remembers remnants of his life. The hills around their manor, green of life and soft under his touch. A laugh jingling through the air like a bell, free and warm. His love for music and poetry, flowing from his heart and mouth. And the pain, fire melting his bones and lapping at his mind as he's nearing his end. His parents are with him, weeping and praying, their words hushed as his senses grew duller each moment. Taking him away from what was, easing his suffering.

Julian Alfred Pankratz dies that day, not older than 16 summers, his life ended by a fever. Many would have called it unfortunate, might have called him too young to go. But there had been younger, he knows. It's sad he will never be able to live his dreams but he feels calm and at ease. In this realm there is no suffering, no pain. Just a deep feeling of belonging.

There are many others joining him on his way. Times are dire, war and famines raging. Somehow they're all moving towards the same direction without really moving it all. They have no bodies to carry them, no walls to hide behind. It's just their souls, their essences traveling further, returning to something feeling close to "home".

It's not dark and gloomy around them, neither bright and cheerful. There's only a soft light guiding them and he has never felt more safe.

As it's his turn to… well to do what? He thinks he would have taken a step towards what has brought him here but without feet and legs could there be steps? The light in front of him is vaguely shaped like a human, a young woman but giant in size. She takes in what is his nature. If he wouldn't know better he'd say there is a hint of pity on her face.

" _Welcome home my sweet child."_

Her voice is kind and pleasant, warmth and love. Here and everywhere at once. Deep down, something inside him knows who she is. _Melitele. The mother of everything._

_"I see, you have returned so soon. Tell me love, are you ready to move on?"_

Huh. What a strange question. Does he really have a choice? He's reluctant to answer, no words being able to form on his not lips but instead deep inside his soul.

"I'm glad dearest mother to have returned to you. Your love and warmth soothe the ache of my passing, but…"

He stops. Why? There's nothing out there for him. He's able to find peace, for all eternity.

_But is that really what he wants?_

A deep longing inside his existence blooms. To see the world their mother had created, to learn of all its' secrets and nooks. All its' beauty and adventures, of the good and the bad. Of what should be treasured and protected.

The goddess seems well aware of his struggle, not bothered or angered by it. Her aura is only understanding as she speaks to him again.

_"My sweet child, I can feel you. Your wishes and dreams, your hopes too. There is strength in your soul, a potential to create good if you were to nurture it."_

Could it be true? Could he dare to hope for it not to end here yet? 

The goddess draws closer, never losing any of her size but he feels no fear as her hands gently surround his entire self.

_"Only few coming here I can offer this chance, so listen well: I deem you worthy of joining our ranks, the light and good inside you is strong enough to bring hope and joy to the world one day. You shall receive guidance to master that task we give you and only then you shall return to the earthen lands and help us keep the darkness at bay that threatens to overthrow the eternal balance of life."_

Her face seems to be hardening, as she speaks on.

_"I have to warn you my beloved child - this road is noble but full of danger, hurt and deprivation. Not all creatures below will honor the efforts you undertake and the weight of destiny you endure but those who do will treasure you dearly. You are never to return to those you left behind, you will be wandering alone for decades to come. So choose wisely: are you willing to accept this to aid our holy task?"_

The quickly it came the faster it's gone from her features again, only the patient outlines of a mother's love left behind. She's waiting for his answer, not pushing or prodding. It's his decision to make and he feels she'll accept either way. He's glad for that.

He thinks through her proposition, not wanting to rush anything. But who is he kidding? A deep hum inside him already knew the answer from the first second and now it's his to give. He straightens himself - at least it feels like it.

"I'm grateful for this chance, dearest mother Melitele and I'm accepting it. I'm deeply honoured to aid your way of bringing good into the world we both love so much."

The goddess' smile is bright and beautiful and he knows no better than to think he's falling a little bit in love as she lifts him up towards her face.

_"Well then my dearest, I shall take you to your siblings' ranks. They shall guide you until you are prepared to carry out your duty. As you are now a new self with a new purpose, I ask you to choose a new name for what you are as well."_

It's easy really, there's a name he's already thought of before. Originating from his love for beauty, nature and poetry, from freedom, warm sunshine and diligence. His light is shining brightly as he exclaims:

"So call me Jaskier then!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is trained in his newfound powers. Everyone is good to him. But destiny calls all too soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there everyone,
> 
> first of all I want to thank everyone for their support! I received such lovely prompts on tumblr and the comments here also made my day.
> 
> I'm glad to see how many people enjoyed this spontaneous idea of mine and the amount of subscriptions blows my mind. Thanks for all the love.
> 
> I will try to update as frequently as possible but I've always been a struggler with longer stories. I'm also not being able to change to homeoffice in these times so I can only use sparse time frames in my daily routine to write in peace. Please bear with me :3
> 
> The warnings are the same as always: strange grammar and errors originate from English not being my first language and my own sloppiness (duh). This is not beta read and I own absolutely nothing - not the characters, the setting nor anything related to them.
> 
> Kudos as well as comments are always appreciated ♥

Time is a very relative construct, Jaskier notices quickly. There is no change around him to indicate how long he is already here, in his new home, but he makes progress and he takes that as a good sign.

His sibling guides are without form just like him, essences radiant and pure like the sun in the sky or the stars at night. He remembers staring at the latter while still being Julian, wondering what would become of him one day. In no way he had ever entertained the idea of walking this path but he holds no regret in his decision. 

The other beings surrounding him are serving their eternal mother far longer than him and true to her ways they are no less patient and gentle in how they treat him. He is shown how to use the gift Melitele has bestowed on him, to concentrate it and reach out to inspire others.

The result is often wondrous, different than he imagined and it is amazes him greatly. He learns how to guide the heart and soul. To heal others of sorrow and pain and to create new life where it is close to die. His light can ease the heaviest burden or help to make the right decision. With it he brings calm to troubled souls that enter their realm, soothes the hurt tormenting their beings of having to depart from what lies behind. They're grateful for his help as he is for the practice he direly needs. He also notices they are growing in numbers and a pang of worry settles inside him. He knows he cannot change it, he holds no influence over what happens on the continent, not yet. But he feels with all these souls, a trait deeply rooted inside his being.

He's determined to improve his skills, nurture and evolve them until Melitele deems him worthy to take his place in her great plan.

The next part of his exercising doesn't come as natural to him. Besides being a healer and a guide Jaskier is to be a guardian, a protector of those in need. The foul forces roaming the earthen plane are numerous, spreading their vile influences to create chaos, hate and death. Jaskier had never even lifted a sword in his previous life and some aspects of fighting downright terrify him. It shows in his lessons. 

His siblings aren't ruthless by any means but they are set to break through his protection - shields he conjures and he's sure he'd hurt all over if he had a body. Exhaustion is not really a thing in the goddess' realm but he feels spread thin in a way he struggles to comprehend.

He's mulling over what he achieved, over what he fears. He has never been one for violence, the unexpectedness in a fight made him feel unprepared and vulnerable. What if he were to make a wrong decision? Jaskier has come far and this is what he chose for himself, by himself. But his new knowledge of all kinds of wretched beasts and tainted creatures roaming below still strikes fear inside him. He reluctantly voices his concerns to one of his guides, after just another burst through his defense. The other listens until he is finished, thoughtful not to interrupt before their beings connect and a deep feeling of reassurance flows through him. It reminds him of the embrace of his former parents, their hold gentle yet strong, warm and protecting. The feeling is accompanied by a voice that projects straight into his core, not more than a soft whisper as it speaks to him.

_"Dread not Jaskier. Destiny's path can be filled with light, bathing you in it's grace but is not void of hardships and pain. Only those remaining faithful and persistent, battling their deepest fears will change it's tide and rise in victory."_

It's a gentle nudge to the right direction and he gets it, he's a clever one after all. It's natural to have faults and insecurities but they should never be a reason to stop. Jaskier decides to see them as a obstacle to overcome, something he can truly grow in. _There is no bravery without fear after all._

In his quiet moments he contemplates about the desire of growth versus the wish for comfort and safety. He's unsure many of his age think about matters like that, on the other hand he has no age anymore. He had always taken great pleasure in discussions and speech itself. Words were like weapons, they said, and run true they did. Words held the potential to bring laughter or tears, grief or comfort and oh his self was brimming with words he wanted to show the world. Maybe even in the form of songs. He would in time, he knows. But not yet.

He pushes on, no longer willing to waste time on useless hesitation. He guides and heals, creates and inspires. And he fights, protects, secures and defends. It's a cycle passing over and over again, like the sun tends to rising in the east and setting in the west in the world below. His persistent work bears fruit - his skills flourish, growing stronger with every passing. Jaskier feels at ease and giddy at the same time, his soul torn between the aspect of belonging here and being needed down there. It pleases him, immensely so and he's surprised to find he has never been happier.

Melitele's call reaches him mid-training. Her lingering presence never invades, just a reminder of safety throughout this sphere so he is startled to hear her whisper of his name close to his core. His sibling shows no displeasure or offence as he has to leave, a silent goodbye passes between them. It doesn't take long for him to find her, the goddess is settled in the usual spot she inhabits when not welcoming the wandering souls. Stepping forth, he tries his best to assemble his best bodiless imitation of a bow in her honour. 

"Mother, you have called for me."

A melodic hum flows through the area as she gently reaches out and picks him up, just like she did when they first met. She's radiant and beautiful beyond imagination and Jaskier feels his essence swell with gratitude and pure love towards her. A pleasant smile is settled on her lips, her gaze lingering on him alone.

_"My sweet child, I am pleased to hear of your many progresses. Our people speak highly of your achievements and I couldn't be prouder of what you accomplished in such little time."_

Julian always had an awful faible to blushing, willingly or not. And while he was not Julian anymore and he had neither body nor blood Jaskier could swear the warmth coursing through him is just an ethereal equivalent. He's close to shying away and waiting for it to pass as he notices something else in her face - an underlying hue of sadness, worry even. She must have felt it, so she continues.

_"I wish we had more of that precious time to finish your training and unlock your full potential. But we are running out of that in this moment we speak. A vile force conjured by mislead chaos and disfigured magic is beginning to unleash itself from the south of the continent. It will not stop encasing the world in darkness before swallowing it whole."_

No wonder their mother worries. Hearing these words made Jaskier's inside churn, the weight of his duty settling in. There was no going back now. He couldn't and would never do that. This was his destiny, what he had trained for. A wave of courage swept through him and reached out to her, using the strength inside that she had gifted him. It is but a reassuring touch to lighten her spirit.

"Worry not, dearest mother. I'm grateful for all you have done for me and cannot ask for more - I'm ready and willing to depart and take up my duty. I will best their evil ways and see to making you proud every day I wander the soils below."

He is rewarded with a joyful laugh and he abruptly feels better as well. He's raised even higher, close to her face that he would feel her breath if she were human. Tenderly, she looks at him for one last time.

_"Oh my sweet I will sorely miss your cheerfulness but it is for the better. May your path be protected and your existence treasured, my little Jaskier. Now close your eyes and think of only the greatest things you can imagine."_

He does as he's told. Closing his eyes, letting his mind wander. He's thinking of words, many beautiful words, turning into songs, their melodies foreign but all too familiar. He's thinking of friendship and sunshine, adventures and destiny, light and laughter.

Her lips brush over his soul, bidding him goodbye, reshaping what he is, what he was, what he will be. Then everything fades away and he feels like he's falling.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there everyone,
> 
> Welcome back to the newest part of our journey. 
> 
> I want to take a moment to thank everyone who's supporting this - who spares the time to leave kudos, bookmarks or comments, as well as those who subscribe. There are over 40 people following this story now and I'm blown away by that fact. Also this is one of the longest things I've written and this is just one chapter so yeah...
> 
> Please mind the usual warning: strange grammar and errors originate from English not being my first language and my own sloppiness (duh). Also as I have not played the Witcher games or read the books yet, I know shit about geography and flora of places so I will probably make and mix up some of this stuff as well as people. This is not beta read and I own absolutely nothing - not the characters, the setting nor anything related to them.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated and brighten the writer's day ♥

Jaskier doesn't know what happened exactly. Did he fall? Did he fly? It matters very now. He feels the atmosphere around him shifting like it's accommodating to welcome him back to the world he once came from. Then it all goes dark.

The air around him is fresh, crisp even as he's coming to his senses. He feels strangely sluggish, a small ache spreading inside him like he had pulled a muscle. The feeling was familiar yet strange - in Melitele's realm no one was ever tired, weak or in pain. 

Dizziness takes hold of his senses as he opens his eyes, slowly blinking awake and adjusting to the colours around him. It takes a moment before he freezes up, realising what just happened. He had opened his eyes.  _ His eyes?! _

A jolt of energy surges through him and he's sitting up in one fluent motion. His heart beats like crazy, a giddy sentiment rising from his belly as he bears witness of what he had suspected or better wished for - he has a body again. 

A laugh he doesn't bother to stop bubbles up in his throat. A body, all for his own! There was no way he was dreaming this up - but if he were he wishes to never wake up from it. 

Rational thinking would dictate it was more efficient to have a proper transport aiding his task though there had always been the chance of simply being a spirit in his realm, an invisible force to gravitate humans closer to the light. But Jaskier has never been a creature of logic or many rational thoughts so he basks in the feelings he experiences.

Wrapping his arms - oh what joy to have those again! - around his form he takes a shuddering breath, filling his lungs with the morning air. The flesh surrounding him feels unusually tight, unfamiliar after all the time he spent being formless and free. It doesn't bother him too much. 

A curious thought is entering his mind and his hands quickly find their way to his face, exploring what can be found. The skin beneath his fingertips is smooth to his touch, squishy and plump and his hands - his hands! He had missed them so much as well. His fingers are just as long and delicate as he remembers and he cannot wait to put them to proper use. 

It might be silly thing to do but Jaskier takes his sweet time, just feeling himself and the new shape that he was being gifted. His chest and voice indicate he's still a man but he longs to see more of what he is now. There's a thought that he can't shake and he wonders of it's true. 

He's grateful for the humble set of clothing attached to this body right now. He would have to thank his mother later, stalking into the nearest town without a hint of clothing probably wouldn't have befitted his mission.

Jaskier counts himself lucky that there's no one around to see his feeble attempts of getting to his feet. Like a newborn fawn rising to stand for the first time his legs wobble with the effort to carry his weight and he falls straight back on his hind. For now grace is a gift that he missed out on and this might not be his greatest act ever but he refuses to yield just yet. After enough focusing on the task at hand and recalling how to work these legs of his he finally gets a grip on the concept of standing  _ and  _ walking without stumbling over anything in your path. 

He sets out to closer inspect the area. There's not much to see besides the flat green hills he had woken up on, sprouting masses of dandelions in their wake. The sight and their vibrant colour make him smile and he tends to some that have been smothered under his clumsy form. A gentle brush of his power makes them return to their original beauty and he's heading out to the road, satisfied.

The path he decides to follows takes him through a narrow valley into a sparse forest. It was quite a distance to walk, considering him still being human or at least wearing a human body, he should have been exhausted by now aching for a rest. The sun is shining high in the sky, the rays warming his skin like kisses, so he ignores the slight fatigue until he has wandered deeper into the woods and found what he had been looking for. 

The low gurgle of the stream fits perfectly into the forest's harmony, peaceful and serene. The light breaking through the treetops bathes his surroundings in a gentle way and finally he stops for a rest, taking some bigger sips from the clean water to quench his thirst. It feels cool and soothing running down his throat, he takes a moment to appreciate the feeling, eyes closed, only listening to the sounds around him. 

Opening them again his vision is drawn to the water's surface below, his reflection blurred through movement but he's still able to make it out. No words tumble over his lips, his gaze fixated on the makeshift mirror before a grin blooms on his features and a happy sob wrings itself from his throat. 

He looks like  _ himself.  _ Like he has never been gone in the first place. Immense joy pulses in his body, the sense of familiarity flooding him and he thinks about his family and how they would-

He stops himself from finishing that thought and sits back on his heels, realisation sinking in. While taking a couple shuddering breaths, he's trying to comfort himself. 

Jaskier knows the rules. 

_ You are to leave behind what had been yours. _

No family, no friends, no home to rely on. Just himself, his powers and his faith to outline and carve a new destiny, out there on the path. 

It hurts though it shouldn't. Back above he had mulled for this situation a thousand times, thought himself prepared. He's not and it shows, hesitating what to do. A sense of stubborn resignation enters his mind. This is what he decided on, free in choice so he had stick to it. 

He gets to his feet again, this time successful at first try. The ache of turning his back to what he had been and will never be again still not fully disappears. So small steps first, that's what he can do. He has to get into the next town before night falls. His instincts tell him there's still a march to make and lingering here any longer wouldn't fare him any good. Squaring his shoulder Jaskier's setting out, back to the road, eyes ahead. Never to look back again.

He's on a mission after all and aiming to giving it all he's got.

+++

Humans are… well. Difficult, to put it nicely.

Jaskier has yet to decide if his people's skill that he was sure he had, turned a bit rusty over time or if people had just grown incredibly rude. It's a healthy mix of both he reasons, he reasons, a fact his ego can live with. Still having an ego seems like a fancy thing, keeping in mind his task of spreading good and light under everyone equally but it turns out being a well meaning spirit guide alone isn't enough to survive out here.

Finding his way to town had not been especially hard - his new physical form came with some enhancements to his senses, making it easier to be aware of his surroundings and also the addiction of a sixth sense in total. It tells him about souls being near, their emotional state if he's close enough as well as the strength they possess. It's a funny feeling, sensing people you aren't able to see yet but it comes useful in his travels and vital to his first priority task. 

He sets foot into the town of Passiflora during early afternoon, the city brimming with energy and people. Seeking out the nearest tavern, he asks for a room to stay in and a meal. The innkeeper looks at him like he's a loon as he pats his clothes in search of coins that he's genuinely surprised to find. It's exactly enough to cover his stay, so the man takes it with a grunt and throws a key at him. He really has to thank his mother for her genuine care but first he has to find himself some work.

Easier said than done it turns out as the fifth merchant sends him away cackling, cracking nasty jokes about his scrawny body. Jaskier grumbles quietly under his breath. He's definitely stronger than he looks, given his godly blessing but he can't just show them without blowing his cover and urgh - he really means humans well but some deserve to be bitten in the arse by a dog. 

He keeps up his search and is often pointed to the brothels in town to 'put his pretty face to use'. Twelve of them are scattered all around the city and he wonders why anyone would need that many in the first place. After long hours of rejection and wandering the city, his fruitless search is grating on his nerves. More than once he had stop himself of tampering with some offensive people's soul, to kindly nudge them to be more benevolent in his regard. He's weak to consider those methods at all but at least he hasn't fallen that low yet.

Taking a deep breath he climbs the stairs up to one of the whore houses as the sun sets, not the finest one but still neat and clean on the outside. The establishment is run by a woman in her later years, her once beauty still evident on her face though it maintains a strict appearance. She's a good person, he can feel. Honestly caring for the girls living under her watch, her soul a gentle glow inside her body. The bawd takes pity to his tale and offers him coin and housing for his help around the household and no more than that. She keeps calling him "boy" though she should know he's off age or at least he looks a bit older than he remembers. His true age is hard to track right now.

Jaskier is flashing her a bright smile, thanking her for the kindness and brushes over her essence with a soft touch. This night and those he will stay she's to sleep even better.

So he's moving out of the inn the next day, living and working in the brothel and it's definitely not too bad. He's cleaning up the rooms, preparing food for the girls living in the there, stocking up on drinks and other supplies needed for the nights. 

He makes sure to treat the women working with him with utmost respect and gentle care, granting them privacy though they sometimes giggle and tease him for doing so. 

The brunette never takes any sexual interest in them as they're already subjugated to that all day long and the girls react pleased but curious. 

All of them have taken a liking to the 'boy' taking care of them, drawing them bathes, then rubbing out the aches of their backs after an exhausting night or treating minor wounds inflicted by clients. He's washing their clothes, even brushing their hair while singing a little tune if asked as his nimble fingers work magic on even the most unwilling lock. He listens to them, to their stories of how they got here, of a especially awful patrons, of their hopes and dreams and wishes, offering kind words and maybe some advice if he can, wanting nothing in return. Jaskier makes sure to protect them the best he can, tending to their ethereal essences that are cleaner than most of the more noble humans he has met by now. Sometimes women from other houses pay him a visit as well, enjoying a peaceful break of what their lives normally are. 

The girls tend to slip him a coin they can spare though he begs them not to. 

_ Those who have nothing are always the first to give. _

And it pulls on his heart to see how badly they are treated, spit on in the streets, shunned by society but at the same time wanted and lusted after. It's a cruel pretence of morality he wishes to tear down and burn it until nothing but ashes remain. Anger and frustration become well-known companions but at least he can do something. He can help those who wouldn't find help with anyone else.

His stay has extended to almost six months now. It's early in the morning, the sun just rising on the horizon but he has been awake anyway so he takes care of sweeping the floor near the stairs, getting rid of what the patrons brought with them. 

He's humming a soft tune under his breath, careful not to disturb anyone while he's passing by the rooms as something calls to his heavenly senses. 

Inside the room just to his right shines the brightest soul he has ever encountered until now, aside from his mother's. It's marvelous, burning so hot and pure beneath a cage of grief, doubts and  _ pain _ that a sudden wave of yearning, to help that person behind that door, almost throws him off his feet. His hands tremble around the broom his holding on to keep himself upright, his heart beating wildly in his chest. There's a certain pull of something, old and powerful but before he can get a better grasp for the word he can practically taste on his tongue, heavy footsteps pull him from his stupor and he's bolting up the stairs to the next floor, hiding in a corner of the hallway.

After a quiet shuffle below - someone had left the room and probably noticed his lousy excuse of an escape - and the steps retreating to the ground level Jaskier notices he held his breath for the whole time.

_ What in Melitele's name happened?! _

He felt the presence vaning from his mind as it leaves and he stands near the window, not being able to register any movement outside. Whatever it was, it's gone now and Jaskier feels at loss, he misses what he just had for the flicker of a moment.

_ You didn't have shit! h _ e scolds himself, not caring for the inappropriate language of his thoughts and returns to his duty. Still his mind lingers on the strange occurrence the whole day and those following and if he were to encounter a cheap but well-kept lute on sale during one of his daily runs to town to replenish their stocks, he knows what to call it.

_ Destiny. _

+++

Bidding goodbye is never easy. 

Anyway he leaves the town of Passiflora with a light travel pack, a small purse of coin and some leftover smudges of lipstick on his face, a bounce in his step while softly strumming the lute. It's in a fine condition and the first notes easily fill the air, playing it coming to him like a second nature. Soon he might be able to compose his own songs and play them in taverns, entertaining the people after a hard day of work and raising their spirits. He's keeping a notebook close at hand, just in case inspiration hits him spontaneously. Until then he tries to pick up enough stories and songs from the people he meets during his travels, providing a start to his bardic career.

It's fine but not fulfilling as he hoped and feared. There's a lot to see in these vast lands, sorrow and laughter, life and death living hand in hand. He's meeting good, honest people he rewards with bliss and luck. And the bad ones, he tries to sway to righteousness but he's not always successful. 

More than once Jaskier has to run for his life, hiding from bandits, trying to rob him of his humble belongings but also angered guards, husbands and fathers that accuse him of defiling the women in their care. 

He hasn't - thank you very much. 

Most times the bard's no more than a counsellor, a listener to the loneliness in their hearts while trying to cheer them up and appeals to them to shift their assumption of this world and their places in it, just a little bit. It seems like being caught though while sitting close to such lovely ladies in different states of undressing for their own comfort while saying " _ It's not what it looks like." _ isn't the best plan he came up with. So he runs, often and if that's no fine training for his stamina he doesn't know what is. 

He has never slept with any of them though. 

Not that he couldn't but it didn't feel right. He was not another to exploit their weaknesses but to help them re-build and find a better way. If for any means this lead to a divorce or another justified change it shouldn't be blamed on him, at least in his opinion.

Fate and the winds and the definite need to make more money to sustain himself lead his steps to Posada in summer. The town and surrounding lands are beautiful, rich of everything one could think of to survive and thrive in it. The fields are full with fruit, the river is clear, the grain that flows in the mild warm winds like a sea of gold is nearly ready for harvest. Taking in the beautiful scenery he revels in this valley of plenty and oh - he writes that down in his notebook. It holds potential of a nice catch line to a coming jig. 

If Jaskier is honest with himself inspiration has been sparse in the last months, nothing really being able to ignite his mind with a brilliant idea worth a song. His money reserves are seriously depleted and though he doesn't mind sleeping under the stars or composing a meal of what nature provides him with, he aches for the comfort of a soft bed, a proper bath and a warm meal for a change. Maybe this place could give him the spark to let his creativity flourish. There's something in the air that's telling him it will work out in his favour. There's also a hint of something else, faintly reminding him of onion.  _ Huh,  _ he muses as he has not passed by any field containing that vegetable,  _ maybe a trick of his mind. _

The tavern is easy enough to locate and packed with a sufficient number of guests, so the bard makes his way to the counter and haggles like he has learned to do since he has set out on his journey. Most good things did not come for free and needed a little prodding from his side, besides clever words and a charismatic smile to ease the way. The owner relents and offers him the money he earns from his performance, free drink along the day and later a bed to rest if he's able to raise the overall gloomy mood of his patrons. The bard felt it too - the whole town is unsettled by something that he cannot put his finger on. Agreeing to the deal he sets down his pack and grabs his lute, tuning the strings on his instrument to ensure a good performance before taking his place at the front of the room. The young man smiles in what he hopes is considered sympathetic enough and a pang of nervousness settles in his gut. He had done that a dozen times by now, he reminds himself, so what could possibly go wrong?

A lot he's bound to learn. The crowd is tense, unwilling and short of temper. Even the most beloved tunes he picked up that always resonate with the audience don't draw more than a few glances or grunts out of the lot. 

Nevertheless Jaskier tries his best though the mood stays sour and weighing down on him as well. 

Just as he's about to go for another song the door to the tavern room opens and a tall figure hidden behind a dark cloak enters. If the mood had been nothing but shit before one could feel it fling into a coil of fear and simmering anger now. Jaskier had troubles breathing, his throat dry and constricting as he registered who exactly just happened to enter the inn.

It's the bright soul from months ago.  _ His destiny. _

His heart is set on beating faster than anything he has known until now, not relenting even as the figure moves to the bar and later to one of the shadowy corners of the room. Clever to do so, he notices. With walls surrounding the stranger like that, it would be hard to sneak up on him.

He's ripped out of his thoughts as a patron yells for him to continue and he tries. He really does.

All coherent thought seems to have left his mind and all he utters is sheer nonsense. He's messing up the lyrics of the song until it's no longer recognisable, a messed up twist of the original and he winces at himself. Oh and at the food he's being pelted with because suddenly everyone with the ability to sit on their hind in that tavern had the credibility so consider themselves a critic. Lovely. At least he's able to fill his pockets with enough bread to not go hungry for the next days.

Jaskier's gaze is drawn to the stranger again, an otherworldly magnetism drawing him in. He barely registers moving over or picking up whatever drink the maid serving was carrying along. Before he really realises what happens, he's standing in front of the stranger, basking in the light the other exudes while aching to ease all the darkness that has a firm grip around the man's heart. The silence his simply unbearable, at least to the bard's ears.

_ Say something for Melitele's sake! Anything! _

"Love how you just sit in the corner and brood."

A deep groan echoes through his whole being, hoping it won't show on the outside that keeps on smiling sheepishly.

_ Great. Just freaking great. _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there everyone,
> 
> I'm completely blown away. Subscriptions have doubled over the course of chapter three and I can't wrap my head around that idea. Thanks to everyone leaving any kind of feedback on this story! It means so much to me.
> 
> Please mind the usual warning: strange grammar and errors originate from English not being my first language and my own sloppiness (duh). Also as I have not played the Witcher games or read the books yet, I know shit about geography and flora of places so I will probably make and mix up some of this stuff as well as people. This is not beta read and I own absolutely nothing - not the characters, the setting nor anything related to them.
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated and brighten the writer's day ♥

Traveling with the witcher proves to be more than he ever hoped for. Nearly every day there's an adventure, a danger they're exposed to and it thrills him down to the core.

Maybe it isn't the best start to be captured by elves after an unsuccessful hunt for a devil. He tries striking up some conversation to ease the nervousness inside him, considering this could be his first proper maybe-battle scenario. Too bad it earns him a punch to the gut and later gives away their exact location to their attackers. He could feel the annoyance roll off the witcher in waves as they wake up, tied together like a bundle of wood for transport.

The elves are angry, rightfully so. The hurt, grief and despair troubling their hearts nearly makes him cry right in front of them. Still their blows and kicks sting and he doesn't want to start about the smashing of his loyal lute. They had traveled together for months after they were united that fateful day. Still he extends his powers, soothing the volume of their ailments from a scream to a whisper. This and his ability to speak Elder, though he pretends it was only rudimentary, lets the Elven king's gaze linger on him longer than he is comfortable with. Oops. Perhaps he should try to be more subtle in his actions the next time. Good thing the Sylvan and Geralt offer a proper distraction with both of them trying to sway Filavandrel to be better than what happened to him and his kin.

"If you need to kill me, I'm ready."

Jaskier rarely prayed harder to his mother than in that moment. What a cruel twist of destiny it would be to take away his companion just after he found him again. His prayers are answered, the elves let them go. Relief floods him at hearing their plans to settle down somewhere else and rebuild their society. He tries to sneak a small blessing along their path, careful not to be too obvious again as Filavandrel addresses him once more.

" _ I see my guard has stripped you off something essential for your profession, _ " cool blue eyes rest on the bard's face, looking for something he can't place, " _ but this should make proper compensation. _ "

The elf hands him a lute and he gasps at its sheer beauty. The instrument is sleek, all dark wood and delicate engravings, glowing softly from the love of being treasured for generations. Oh he is in love with it, mesmerised and moved deeply by this gesture.

" _ I'm sure it will aid you in your quest. _ "

Two sets of blue eyes meet. Busted. The king knows more than he he is supposed to do but luckily makes no more inquiries on that matter. Jaskier bows his head in gratefulness and respect before he thanks the other and hurries outside. He catches up with Geralt, already sitting on Roach and they make their way down the hills of Dol Blathanna. It's a pleasant day, the sun high in the sky, he chats away while he plucks the strings that hum in an unusual serene way. Embedded with magic then, enhancing every tune tumbling from the graceful neck. He needs to find a way to make up for that lovely present. 

An idea strikes his mind, his fingers begin to work and he starts to create his first song about his witcher.

The lyrics make Geralt stop, face set in a frown.

"That's not what happened. What about your newfound respect?"

Turning towards the other, Jaskier slows his steps. Of course he'd think it irreverent.

"Respect doesn't make history."

And that's what they need right now. Slaughtered elves don't bear a threat that people would go after. Maybe they could find their peace now, somewhere else, somewhere safe.

His words from earlier come to his mind, so he turns back to the road and sings,

" _ Toss a coin to your witcher oh valley of plenty, oh valley of plenty…" _

+++

They stay together after this, Geralt not making an attempt of hitting him or outright insulting him to drive the bard away. He's definitely irritated why someone would follow him in the first place, a safe distance always kept between them and Jaskier decides not to push. It stings a little to think he might be the first one who tries to befriend the witcher. He keeps trying though.

He's playing his songs to mend his reputation. Tells stories to all audiences, young and old, willing to listen about their adventures. Sometimes he helps out in negotiations, sways people better with his words and his smile so they can have a little treat like an additional bath once in a while. Now and then there are small things that catch his eye in the markets like oils or herbs the other uses frequently or spirits he needs for brewing new potions, so he picks them up and gifts them to his friend. Geralt's expression of raw confusion is adorable and unsettling at the same time but he accepts his offerings.

Once he brings them a small basket of various fruit, just to enjoy and spoil them a little, besides a package of bathing salt they can use later and the witcher cracks.

"Why are you doing this? Wasting money on…"

He waves towards the basket but really it sounds like he means  _ me _ . 

Jaskier just smiles, sitting next to him on the log inside the camp they sat up but makes sure they don't touch.

"Because we're friends and we deserve good things as well."

He sticks to we but means  _ you _ . 

The witcher grunts in response but says nothing. Times goes by and only as he's settling down to sleep on his bed roll, he notices the other picking up a peach and some strawberries he eats on his watch. Jaskier smiles to himself, drawing his blanket up to his chin. Baby steps. But they they're making progress. 

One thing is for sure - Geralt has his troubles with words. The brunette notices him wince to himself when an answer sounds to rash or when his rough voice scares away some children eyeing them curiously. It's not pity he is feeling, more a kind of sympathy. In a world where words decide about wars and misfortune, not having a voice is difficult. Still he's convinced there's a lot more to the stoic man that meets the eye.

It starts with soft touches, to his shoulders or arms, sometimes to guide him or just to express comfort in a troublesome situation. The witcher stays closer in taverns with rowdy guests, no one dares to hurl anything at him with the shadow of the White Wolf looming over him. An additional blanket sits on his bed roll after an exceptional chilly night and just before winter comes he even agrees to share a bed roll and his body heat to keep his companion from freezing up. The white-haired man is no longer tense when he's around, accepts him by his side. More small gestures litter their combined way and it makes Jaskier feel eerily warm. Happy.

Sometimes he could swear he glows from it. Only a little. Geralt either doesn't notice or chooses not to comment on it.

+++

The path is dangerous and full of hardships.

Even with sweet little moments in between to warm your heart, cruel reality is never far away. Death seems to follow them everywhere they go, sometimes he's there first. Not always everyone can be rescued or soothed by a heavenly essence.

Jaskier learned that the hard way in a small town in Temeria. A bruxa decided to terrorise the people there, stealing their children away at night. So they decided to hire a witcher to get rid of the problem. The contract was supposed to be easy - the beast made a home in an old abandoned house just outside town, alone and unaware of their presence. One monster versus a witcher shouldn't present a problem.

The bard had been uneasy the whole day, his stomach churning. The air reeked of tension ready to crack, like a thunderstorm about to wash over their heads. Voicing his discomfort, he even proposed to the witcher to pass on this job. All signs were pointing to immanent misfortune. Geralt only took it as a sign to better leave him at the inn they stayed. He had grown weary of dragging the bard along for meddlings he deemed too dangerous. Shouldering his swords the white-haired man met his gaze.

"They need my help. More children will suffer if the bruxa isn't killed soon."

He nodded, slowly, and saw his witcher off, disappearing into the night. Later he wished he hadn't relented that easily, maybe even begged him to stay.

Hours later Geralt returns. Heavy rain floods from the heavens, like thick tears in the night. The man is drenched to the bones, his shoulders slumped, gaze fixed on the way in front of him. Jaskier feels him coming, hurrying to the door but no words leave his lips as he witnesses the expression of defeat on the man's face. There are no children trailing behind him, he's alone. The bard feels his heart sink at the implication.

Others notice his arrival as well, guests from the inn joining his side, shouting about the witcher's return. Windows and doors fly open around them, man and women lining the scene, some even brave enough to step out into the rain. They wait for the return of their kidnapped children. Tension grows thicker every moment nothing happens. The alderman that hired them, joins them, stepping out of his house, not caring for the storm outside. His face is set in stone as his gaze lands on Geralt's lonesome frame. 

"Where are the children, witcher?"

Silence stretches that much that some grow agitated before there's an exasperated grunt.

"I killed the vampiress," something lands in the mud before the alderman's feet. It's the bruxa's severed head, her expression frozen in a scream of terror. "But she turned the children into her kin. They attacked me… and fell as their sire did."

A whisper runs through the crowd, sobs and wails of misery growing louder. The atmosphere turns cold, not caused by any winds. Anger rises quickly. It's easier to blame someone else for misery than to accept it. It doesn't take long for the first stone to fly. Geralt flinches a bit but says nothing. The alderman just turns around, turning a blind eye to what is about to happen. He's making the hunter he hired to his people's prey.

"Leave this town, witcher and never return. You already overstayed your welcome."

It's like a dam breaking. Shouts and yelling erupt from every direction. Stones, rotten vegetables and dirt is thrown at the white-haired man, standing alone in the roaring crowd. Jaskier watches in horror as Geralt just stills, accepting what happens but not caring to intervene. He's out there in a second, pushing through the pulk, shoving people away.

"No, stop!" his shouts sound feeble over the angry roar of the rest, "please leave him be! It's not his fault!"

Someone pushes him to the ground and he falls face first into the mud, wheezing as the air is pressed out of his lungs. He cannot stay down here, he knows. Like a storm brewing on the horizon this current will not recede until their anger has dissipated. The hurt and despair and pure  _ hate  _ filling the air cause his head to spin, the sheer force of it dizzying. He pushes up again, back to his feet, ignoring the wet cold seeping through his doublet as he weaves further through the mass. Finally -  _ finally _ \- he catches a glimpse of white hair and he joins Geralt in the middle of the uproar, trying his best to shield him from further projectiles. There are several cuts on him, bleeding sloppily down his face. The urge to cry rises in him again. And something else besides that, something hot.  _ It's rage _ . 

_ Please stop. Don't hurt him! _

He turns, facing the distorted faces of those screaming at them, overwhelmed of the sensations barraging down on him. No mercy is shown, nobody willing to listen to his pleas. Drawing in a shaky breath, much needed air fills his lungs as he explodes into a loud screech filled with the power nestled inside of him.

_ "STOP!" _

A jolt runs through the crowd as his essence shakes their cores and they instantly fall silent. A few seconds pass, filled with the sounds of his heavy breathing, then he's spurring into motion. Jaskier grabs the startled witcher's hand and drags him after him, people instinctively moving out of the way as they pass through. They get their packs and Roach and flee from the town before its inhabitants recover from the shock. He shouldn't have done that he knows, too much sudden influence could hurt them severely. He finds he doesn't care. All he wants is to get away for now.

They make it far into the forest before they decide to stop in an protected meadow. It's not completely dry but better than nothing and they do find some wood that's dry enough to start a fire. No words are passed between them as they set up the camp. Luckily the rain dies down as well. Their clothes are still wet, so they hang them up to dry near the fire. Wrapped in the blankets they carry, they sit next to each other after the bard inspected the inflicted wounds. It's nothing severe but still his blue eyes sting with the bite of tears. 

It's unfair, he thinks, so unfair. What hurts him even more was the defeated expression on his friend's face, who accepted this mistreatment. 

_ This hadn't been the first time. _

Staring into the fire weariness rises inside him, exhausted after using that much of his gift.

Geralt is surprisingly the first to speak, clearing his throat.

"Are you sure, you're not hurt? This is the longest without you saying a word in like ever. Not counting the time you're sleeping."

This chortles him into a quiet laugh, he enjoys the specks of Geralt's humor very much. It's soothing in a way.

"So rude." his voice is rough from screaming, then running and maybe some tears that had secretly found their way down his faces while they fled, "I'm just… that was… frightening. And unfair."

"It's what humans do."

He winces a bit. "It shouldn't be Geralt. It's not your fault. I know you - if there had been a chance to save these children, you wouldn't have hesitated to take it." looking at the other's somber expression, he adds, "you didn't deserve that."

Geralt just hums, not keen on more talking. 

Though the fire is pleasantly warm he shivers, drawing the blanket around his shoulders closer. The witcher must have noticed it from the corners of his eyes, because he puts his arm around Jaskier's frame, slowly drawing him closer to his own body. He's grateful but doesn't dare to say anything that might ruin the mood settling between them. Snuggling a bit closer, he closes his eyes, soaking in the witcher's warmth.

+++

Winter draws near and they part from each other. Witchers use to return to their school's ground during the cold season and Jaskier wants to make his way to Oxenfurt. Their academy for higher arts is well-known and respected, so he hopes to improve his talents and learn some more of the bardic profession. Right now he is just running along, making the best out of it. Maybe they can bring some more finery to his set of skills.

Their path is about to split. Geralt is riding on Roach, while he walks up to the fork trail. It's a strange feeling to not see the witcher for months to come but he's positive they'll meet again. Destiny would take care of that.

Geralt looks like he's trying very hard to say something but no words leave his mouth. Jaskier smiles at that, being used to that by now and bows with a flourish. 

"I fear this is where I have to leave your side my dear witcher. May your path be safe and full of pleasantries."

The other snorts, it probably wouldn't. Still he nods.

"Yeah… you too…"

Jaskier watches him until his form disappears from sight and takes a deep breath. It's silly to miss him already. Clutching his belongings tighter he follows the roads to Oxenfurt, spreading comfort and blessings wherever he passes by. His powers have grown over the time he's here. Hopefully they'll do some more. Humming a merry tune under his breath he reaches his destined goal.

+++

For nearly ten years he's walking the continent again. Most times as the loyal companion of the White Wolf. Destiny always reunited them, one way or another. 

Within that period change is normal, nothing stays the same. The witcher and his bard are no exception but also the people around them are not immune. The bard's ballads and stories travel the lands and slowly people tend to be less distrustful of the white-haired witcher. Payment is more easily acquired, clients approach them in higher frequency. They're able to coax a stay for the night along their reward and a performance at the local inn. Younger ones even dare to talk to Geralt directly, asking him some curious questions before scurrying away. The witcher's as quiet as he always is but Jaskier sees it in his eyes that he welcomes that subtle change. It feels good to be accepted. At least kind of.

Jaskier skills advanced as well. He's more confident now, in person as well as in the powers he wields. He can manifest them more easy, even summon shields or weapons made out of divine power. He can accelerate the healing of wounds, cure infections and other mild diseases as well as dispel minor curses. Soothing nightmares and raising people's spirits are his forte. Blessings come easy to him now as well. He's still practicing to extend his abilities to more severe situations but well life is process of continued learning. What awes him the most is the pair of wings he can sprout from his back. They have no real feel to them, when he touches but a tingly warmth and can carry him for short distances or ease his ways to see in the dark. 

His reputation is well-known along most of the continent. Both for him being a proficient musician, poet and singer as well as some crazy stories about him charming his way into many beds. He had been in beds, to be precise but never engaged in other physical activities than talking or just close comforting contact. He's not interested in the desires of the flesh and his heart… well his heart belongs to the witcher that grudgingly accompanies him on his way to Cintra's court. Queen Calanthe - the lioness of Cintra - sent her request for him to play at her daughter Pavetta's betrothal and he's honestly a tad afraid to turn down the invitation. The woman is fierce and strong, a warrior at heart, the last thing he needs is spiking her ire.

Lightly patting Geralt's shoulder, they're walking towards the grant hall were the feast is to be held. He dressed them in gold and dark blue, a tribute to Cintra's colours but also a subtle hint of their acquaintance. They're wearing each other's eye colours and Geralt's tunic is embroidered with tiny buttercups on his sleeves and collar. It's perfectly hidden but he knows about it and it makes the bard's heart skip a beat. Shooting the obviously grumpy white-haired man a comforting smile, he ushers him inside the hall.

"Please behave Geralt, this will be fun. What could possibly go wrong?"

An awful lot it seems. Ducking below a sword coming his way in the middle of a wild brawl, he tries to avoid being at the centre of more accidental blows and keep Geralt safe at the same time. The man is a formidable fighter, he never doubted that, but inside the ruckus Jaskier lets a few feet or hands slip and ignites the idea in lord Eist's mind to come to the witcher's aid, hoping it would end the whole fight soon.

Taking a deep breath as Calanthe breaks the quarrel apart, he hopes for a split second they'd go back to the merry feast. The spike of ancient magic in the air proves him wrong, again, as he notices the dagger in the queen's hand and then Pavetta screams. Everything seems to burst as he's ripped from his feet, nearly crashing into a wall nearby. The power the girl wields is immense, pressing down on his body in a painful manner. There's no way he can stand like this, not with the whirlwind's fury intending them to stay away from the pair of lovers that launches into the air. He notices Geralt in his peripherals though, trying to interrupt the magic but failing. Also the druid of the court - Mousesack if he remembers correctly - chants an incantation against the attacking force. It wavers under his fingers, bending like it's about to break. Reaching out with his hand, Jaskier concentrates on them, protecting their beings from the onslaught and enhancing their powers. It works, the princess and her suitor fall to the ground, thankfully uninjured. 

Destiny has spoken loud and clearly, even the lioness can't hide from that any longer. Duny is bound to Pavetta like Calanthe to Eist and the strange but romantic scene makes him weep a little. He's definitely a sap for happy endings.

Picking up his lute, he hears Lord Duny offer compensation to Geralt, who first refuses but budges in the end. Oh he has a very bad feeling about that, knowing about the density the witcher is sometimes bound to and approaches him carefully. "Uhm Geralt I think you should stick to-".

"Fine. I claim the tradition like you then - the Law of Surprise."

Aw Geralt, no.

Calanthe is visibly distraught and the witcher tries to ease her qualms.

"Fear not your majesty. If I'm seen in your kingdom again, it is to kill a real monster, not lay claim to a crop or a new born pup. Destiny can go f-"

It's the perfect timing for Pavetta to throw up on the tiles.

_ Aw Destiny, no! _

Of course it is. That's what humans call cruel irony. Looking at Geralt like the exhausted parent that he feels like, the other just mutters,

"Fuck."

Well said, as always.

+++

They urgently leave the Cintran country, Calanthe's man hot on their heels. The rage of the lioness burns like hell fire and he's all but intrigued to experience that first hand.

By the time they reach safety, they're worn, aching and for Geralt's part bloodied. The bard had intended to give him a proper piece of mind - _how could one choose the Law of Surprise after what they_ _just witnessed?!_ \- but he takes pity on the other, seeing him so deflated. The witcher is probably beating himself up in his own thoughts, no need to kick a man already on the ground. He sets up a fire and let's Geralt light it. After he nearly set a camp on fire once, he was banned from doing so ever since. Trying to lift the mood a little, he offers,

"Well that could have gone worse."

Enduring the icey glance this earns him he continues,

"We could have been hurt or killed. Thrown into the dungeons, ripped apart, our leftovers fed to the dogs."

_ Jaskier could have lost Geralt. _

"Or we could never have gone there in the first place. This was bound to turn to shit." Geralt sneers.

Flinching back, he tries not to hurt too much over the rash answer. The bard knows the other could feel emotions, often much more intense than might be good for him after all the years of suppression.

Placing his hand on the larger one's, he gives a comforting squeeze.

"We'll figure something out."

Geralt hesitates, then nods. Not taking his hand away.

They stay like this for a little longer before they retreat to their bed rolls. They have a long way ahead of them, to reach another town or village. 

Had he only known how close he was to actually lose the witcher for good.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warm welcome to the 27 new subscribers on this story and a big THANK YOU to the kind people leaving comments. They brighten my day ♡
> 
> We're nearing the end of this story now. This chapter is full of angst, hurt and despair so please get ready for that. I will try to upload the last chapter until Wednesday.
> 
> Happy Easter guys! Stay safe!

Time flies. With two nearly ageless beings traveling together, it's like they met just months ago, a year at most. In reality sixteen years have passed by now, sixteen years of adventures, hurt, laughter, fear, companionship and loyal devotion. Jaskier loves the witcher dearly, like on the day they first met, maybe even more. It's a limitless, overflowing thing - it gives him strength and terrifies him at the same time. He often visits his mother in his prayers and during offerings, telling her of the adventures, their growth. He can feel she's happy for him, also proud, but one day a thought of her brushes his mind that makes him wonder.

_"Don't mistake the stars reflected on the surface of the lake at night for the heavens."_

The celestial cocks his head, thinking hard what she could mean. It's a warning for sure, not to get lost in something that isn't there. Not to read where no words are written. It irks him not to know the intention behind them.

A voice pulls him from his thoughts, calling his name. It's Geralt, leading Roach by her reigns down the road. Obviously his musing slowed him down enough for the other to put a good distance between them. The white-haired Witcher looks just as radiant and beautiful as on the day they met. A bit less troubled maybe. This makes him happy. Jaskier hurries to close said gap, smiling sheepishly. He hasn't changed a bit as well, no signs of age visible on his face. Geralt doesn't seem to notice or care. The other says nothing as so often, just shakes his head in a fond manner.

He wishes it could stay like this forever.

+++

It all goes downhill starting with the djinn.

This time he stays over winter and early spring with a close acquaintance of his, the Countess de Stael. She's a lovely woman, clever, sharp and beautiful. Interested in all kinds of arts, a pleasure to do conversation with, the perfect material for a muse. He loves her, in a platonic way because who wouldn't? She's an amazing personality, imprisoned in a golden cage set by society's norms. Jaskier keeps her constant company, they exchange poems and sonnets. He dedicates her a few song, praising her beauty, wit and skill. But he has a muse and it's not her. 

Too late he notices the Countess might hope for more than just his company, so he informs her of his plans for departure. She seems to take it with grace and he's grateful for that. Later when he packs his belongings, she seeks him out again and kisses him. The bard does not respond, not wanting to hurt her any further. It would be unfair. The Countess isn't happy to have her feelings refused and throws him out, screaming after him, to never return again. He grabs his lute and pack, then runs. He isn't planning to come back anyway.

Still mourning the loss of their friendship, he encounters his Witcher again, idly fishing at a lake's side on a warm day. He's happy to see him, verily so, his sheer presence a balm for his aching heart and soul. Something feels not right though, as he takes in the other's form. The tense way of his shoulders, the restlessness of his eyes. He looks exhausted, haunted and dirtier than ever. A sad sight the bard is set on changing.

Jaskier tries to play it easy, chatting away like always about the tryst with the Countess. He's hovering near the other without touching him, tries to subtly sooth the agitation coiling in the Witcher's soul. Geralt's temper is flaring steadily, hotter than it's ever been and this is worrisome. He's never seen the man so bound to explode.

"I can't fucking sleep!"

Oh, that makes sense. Sleep deprivation is a nasty fiend and for a Witcher with their constant need for perfect control even more so. It's too dangerous. It could end him, once it slows him down too much.

A cold shiver runs down his spine as Geralt informs him that he's actually not fishing. He's looking for a djinn, an ancient magical creature, to put him to sleep.

Bad idea. Very, very bad idea.

Jaskier could spontaneously think of at least five other ways to get him some sleep without relying on a sinister entity waiting for a chance to twist the words of its master. So he tries what he always does: he talks. In the vain hope to hammer some sense into his friend. He even offers to sing him a lullaby.

Geralt snorts. "Did you also sing for the Countess when she left you?"

"Uhm yes, why do you-"

For Melitele's sake! _How. dare. he?!_

He positively squawks at the sheer rudeness of this implication. _This_ voice had mended the Witcher's gruesome reputation and sang him to sleep after waking up from night terrors before. How could he!

"So Geralt, tell me: how's my singing?"

With a splash the fishing net lands in the water once more. "It's like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling."

OH THIS LITTLE-

The bard can't even form words around the sheer offense, hurt deeply by the words sneered without remorse. Recovering from the shock, he points at Geralt.

"You! Need a nap!"

If the other wants to fight dirty, he can do that, thank you very much. He's about to make a clever remark about how it's time for Geralt to get his Witcher shit together and go claim his Child Surprise in order to fulfil his destiny. Jaskier knows their child is well. He visits Cintra's court regularly after Calanthe's rage has dissipated a bit, checking in on the princess. She's lovely and he's sure the Witcher would like her just fine. 

Geralt freezes. Blue eyes land on larger hands holding an unobtrusive amphora. The seals speaks for itself. _It's the djinn._

Oh no.

There's no way he will let the bullheaded man fall victim to a djinn's wrath so he instantly reaches for the vessel. He's still talking, still trying to reason with the infuriated man, while pulling even harder.

"Geralt, please for the love of all gods, don't do that! Let go, you horse's arse-"

The seal comes off with a plop. His heart plummets at the sound. _Shit._

Then nothing happens. Relieved, the bard shakes the amphora to signal it's emptiness, trying to ease the tension between them.

"Well this was pretty anticlimactic, don't you think?"

Until it's not and he's angry at himself for not even once keeping his damn mouth shut.

The next things happen in a blur. Not entirely sure who's the djinn's master he tries to whip up some wishes on the spot to attract the creature's attention and fails miserably. 

He wishes for new traveling boots not causing his feet any blisters no matter how far he walks.

And he wishes for the Countess to find true happiness and welcome him back, so they can resume what they had. A sneer cuts through the air and suddenly he can't breath. His throat is aching like someone just sliced it with a knife and with an uneasy wheeze he's falling to his knees, coughing blood into his hands. Cut off from his usual powers as well to assist his healing.

_What is happening?!_

Geralt is at his side, saying something he can't make out and golden eyes look so, so guilty. He doesn't have to guess to know the reason.

_Oh you stupid, beautiful idiot Witcher._

+++

Everything afterwards just passes him by. He's slipping in and out of consciousness, can barely make out Geralt's voice through the veil looming over his mind. There's the scent of lilac and gooseberries and wonders drowsily if he's about to die again. He passes out once more.

The next time he properly wakes up, feeling better, is at the side of a witch. She's beautiful. Maybe the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. But also definitely crazy, the stare of her purple eyes making him squirm. Whipping up a flashy excuse about his cat left on the stove, he tries to exit this uncomfortable situation to find himself pressed against a wall with his balls in the witches hand, a knife at his throat. _Bloody shit._ She's serious about her crazy plan to become the djinn's new vessel.

Pointing out the ridiculousness of this said and the prospect of her incoming death don't sway the sorceress in the least. That's impressive and terrifying and she screams at him to makes his last wish, so he shrieks.

"I - I wish to get out of here!" _Back to Geralt. To leave this place and never look back._

Stumbling out of the manor moments later feels like a miracle. He made it. And he's still in one piece! Then there is Geralt coming towards him and he's just too happy. He could hug him. The Witcher doesn't give away much, just checks if he's ok and he's about to propose to leave town, when the other trudges towards the manor. Jaskier chases after him.

"Are you perhaps short of a marble?! You can't possibly want to go in there! Leave the very sexy but insane witch to her inevitable demise. We can pray for her on our way, out of town."

He's rarely one to leave anyone behind. But the air is brewing with disaster and they definitely shouldn't stay. Geralt just looks at him, grim expression in place.

"She saved you, Jaskier. I can't let her die."

The elf that seems to have accompanied Geralt here, says something he can't quite place. Something about Geralt loving the witch? It's definitely making both the Witcher and his bard uncomfortable. Worse is to see his love enter the wretched building as the world is dipped in grey twilight around them, the ground shaking.

Whatever is happening in there, it ends in a burst of chaotic energy, the building collapsing and Jaskier falling to his knees again.

A new pain blooms inside of his chest and he's sure to find a oozing wound there but doesn't. The brunette trembles, a cold hollow feeling spreading through him, numbing his whole body. Something's missing. Something's gone. That had been there, always. A sob wrenches from his throat, thick tears falling to the ground. It can only be his Witcher. _He's dead._

Calming hands rub his back, the elf coaxing him back to his feet. He feels defeated, broken. And very tired. Movement inside the house catches the other's attention and they draw nearer, peeking through a broken window into the estate.

They're alive. Both of them are.

Fucking on the manor's floor like animals in heat.

But seeing this, seeing them together, he realises what he lost. It's their bond, Geralt's and his. Their intertwined destiny.

The djinn stole that connection and used it to bind these two instead. Leaving him as a ripped, unwanted end.

He feels like he's about to throw up, so he's pulling free from the elf's grip around him and stumbles away. He may not come far but it's enough. Under the shade of the trees lining the manor's grounds is Roach tied a stump. He throws himself at her, like a drowning man clutching a life line. Then he cries again. Weeping out the pain devouring him.

+++

He tries to tell himself it doesn't matter. That they do not need destiny to stay together, to be like they always were. But Jaskier is afraid. So afraid. He's trying his hardest not to let it show. Still there's a distance between them now. The two of them together doesn't feel as natural as it did before. It gives him chills.

He gives Geralt everything he can. The bard uses the coin he earns from his performances to buy him new gear and daggers, more oils and things the other enjoys. He takes him places the Witcher likes, like bath houses and even brothels as the other always visited them. They pass through Passiflora and the girls are delighted to see him again, smothering him in love and affection. Geralt only raises an eyebrow, not further inquiring on it. One sunny day they're passing by a vast flower field and he weaves Geralt a crown out of the loveliest blossoms he can find. Those making his eyes shine the brightest, feeding them enough of his power to not wilt anytime soon. The Witcher is confused, faint hints of a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. It's an enthralling sight.

Still the other's gaze tends to wander off to the horizon, looking for someone else. Looking for someone that isn't Jaskier. They part for wintering and there's a dread lingering inside his gut. 

He's returning to Oxenfurt once more. After finishing his studies in remarkable time, they offered him a position as a tutor. He takes it during the yearly breaks of the cold season. His creations made him kinda famous, there's no shortage of pupils wanting to take his classes.

One night he's at a party there, all important men and benefactors of the academy assemble in one room. The headmaster prides himself with Jaskier being in his tutoring staff and he tries to smile, feeling uneasy of being the permanent center of attention tonight. After what feels like hours he's able to get away for a bit, on a balcony looking over the normally luxurious gardens, now buried beneath a thick blanket of snow. A glass of wine in his hand the bard takes the opportunity to just breath for some minutes, unbothered by the cold. After the djinn incident he's always cold. It doesn't matter anymore.

The door behind him opens and someone is stepping outside. Looks like his time alone is over, so he turns, an excuse for leaving ready on his lips and stops. Just like the other he's frozen in his motion, staring into familiar green eyes.

It's Valdo Marx. They had grown up together, dreaming about their careers as famous musicians while looking at the stars in their early puberty. When he was still someone else.

_Fuck._

Valdo looks as formidable as he remembers, his round boyish face grown into that of an attractive man. His blonde hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, brushing his shoulder. He's clad in fine silks, shiny and surely soft to the touch. Like a proper bard of a court. 

The other takes in his features, visibly startled at what he's seeing, before choking out a confused,

"Julian?"

_No, no, no please. That can't be happening._

"But that's impossible… how…?"

It's not fair. Does his mother want to test him so badly?

His heart aches and he yearns to greet his old friend, to draw him close but he can't. It's forbidden. He puts on his best performer grin instead, one he has perfected over the last twenty years of wandering this plane again. It fooled even Geralt several times.

"Ah I fear you must confuse me with someone else. Funnily this happens a lot, just the circumstances are usually quite different."

If he could, he would cringe at the innuendo. Holding out his hand, he adds. "I'm Jaskier. It's a pleasure to meet you."

His heart beats like crazy. Please, please. Just take it. He can't fail now. He's not ready to go back.

Valdo hesitates but takes his hand in the end. "I'm Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Vidaris. Please excuse this whole thing you just look… strikingly alike to someone I once held dear."

Oh Valdo...

The urge to hug him is strong but doesn't relent to it. More empty smalltalk tumbles from his mouth before he escapes the situation, almost running, evergreen eyes drilling into back and soul. He's informed later that the other has taken up a position of teaching during his summer leave. Fleeing from the gathering, not caring for the people calling after him, he bursts into his room, packing all belongings. His notebooks, ink, quills all thrown into his bag. He can't stay here anymore, not with his old life so close. In the break of dawn he sneaks away, leaving the city far behind him.

Another place he considered home is gone. Now it's only him, the cold and newfound nightmares keeping him company, terrorising him with memories of his fevery once end and the reminders of suffocating with his own choked up blood.

Until they will meet again. The bard and the Witcher. He thinks of these words while snow falls on his body, numbing it until he can't feel his hands anymore.

+++

For the first time they don't encounter each other by chance. Without the guidance of destiny Jaskier has to seek the Witcher out, traveling for weeks until they finally meet again. Being reunited feels good. Even if it's not like he remembers it.

Sometimes Geralt isn't the stone he pretends to be. He notices Jaskier lost weight during his stay outside in the furies of winter. He's worn down, both in behaviour and his clothes, and his attempts to act like nothing changed are weak. Concern is written all over his friend's features and he hates himself for it. Jaskier should be the one protecting Geralt in terms of well-being, not the other way around. But it feels good to be looked after.

Their time together is nurturing his soul back to better health slowly. The bard resumes his chatter, sometimes breaking into songs out of the blue, his smiles reaching his eyes again. Geralt is his last resort, his remaining home to turn to. He cannot lose this. He isn't sure if he'd be able to cope.

So the brunette begs the Witcher to let him stay once it's normally time for them to part ways again. Either take him along on the ride to Kaer Morhen or to keep him company down here for the next months still. Geralt agrees but doesn't take him to the old grounds of the Witcher school. Of course he doesn't. It would mean meeting his fellow Witchers and the one Geralt considers a father. It would mean he is important. But he isn't.

Instead he stays by his side. It's hard with little contracts to take and their rations spreading even thinner than they usually do but somehow they manage. Deep down Jaskier knows he's clinging too tight to his comrade. It's only a matter of time until he will be fed up with him. Still he can't let go. He can't go anywhere else but with Geralt. He has no place to stay but with him.

+++

They're together for twenty-two years when they get enlisted to a dragon's hunt. 

Or better Geralt is, he's just an appendage they can't shake off. Because he's always with the Witcher his presence gets tolerated, not accepted. The other search parties treat him as such, making fun of him so he plays the fool and humors them some more. It's better than to be left out completely. Borch is different, he can feel it. The older man also knows there's something special about him. They treat each other with respect and kindness and he's glad. Company is welcome these days. Especially now that Geralt is enticed by Yennefer's allures again. 

It's obvious their connection is unhealthy, pushed upon them not by nature but by force and it takes its toll. There's a constant back and forth between them but never something lasting, something real after the moments of passion. At least it's obvious to him. The lovers stay blissfully unaware. They keep hurting each other, tearing at the seams of their hearts. It's driving him mad to just look at it.

Borch is suddenly ripped from their middle, his body disappearing into an abyss of impenetrable fog, his guards following close behind. It leaves them silent, grieving. Geralt suffers the most, guilt-ridden by his failure of not saving the man, dimming his once bright light of existence to a simmering thing. Jaskier sits with him, offering company and comfort, looking at the fine scenery surrounding them. It's not much but he tries.

"Look, why don't we leave tomorrow? We could head for the coast. Get away for awhile."

The mood between them feels good and right. He wants it to stay. It feels like them before the djinn.

"Life is too short, Geralt, so do what pleases you while you can."

A small smile adorns the other's lips. Jaskier wants to kiss him but doesn't. It's not him Geralt loves.

"Working on a new song?" his deep voice isn't more than a rough whisper. 

He has never written any songs about Geralt's misery. Would never. The bard shakes his head.

"No just… working out was pleases me."

Jaskier knows what does but stays silent.

They look at each other for a long, tender moment. It nurtures hope inside Jaskier. Maybe, _maybe_ the other could finally understand what is going on inside his heart. But it's foolish to hope. He's reminded of that again when Geralt leaves at night for Yennefer's tent and he stays back, alone on his bedroll, staring into the fire until fatigue takes over.

He's not surprised to wake up without the others the next morning, the camp disassembled around him. It still hurts. Grabbing his things he's trailing their steps until he encounters the dwarves frozen in place by the witches magic. He has missed something important it seems, judging by Yennefer's tearfilled eyes as she passes him and the light shaking of Geralt's shoulders after Borch (?!) leaves as well. Sensing the white-haired man's turmoil, he reaches out again. It worked yesterday. Maybe it would work again.

"Huh, what a day. Imagine you probably want to-"

" _Damn it, Jaskier_!"

Geralt's aura lashes out at him for the first time, shoving him away like a wounded animal pouncing an enemy. It makes him flinch.

"How do I find, whenever I'm in a pile of shit these days, it's you shoveling it?!"

_No. No, please._

His lips quiver, his throat constricts. He can't breath. 

_Please don't._

"That's… not fair."

"The child surprise, the djinn, _everything_!"

There's something wild flaring in these golden eyes. A rage, bitter and ugly that he knows from seeing Geralt on the battlefield. It's never been directed at him. His fingers start to tremble but he can't speak. There's no air left inside him, no words to form his lips around.

" _If life could give me one blessing, it is to take_ **_you_ ** _of my hands."_

Something cracks, deep inside him. But he feels nothing. He's nothing but an empty shell. Some nonsense is leaving his mouth upon that. Staring at the shards of his life at his feet.

"See you around, Geralt."

He leaves without another word. There's nothing more for him to say. It's over. The end. Stumbling across the rocky surface of the path, the urge to get away as quickly as possible is the strongest impulse inside of him. He's wandering, day and night without rest, passing by Roach, saying her goodbye. Asking her to look out for the Witcher in his stead.

_Don't mistake the stars reflected on the surface of the lake at night for the heavens._

He's breaking into a run, not caring for the direction it takes him. Just further away. Away from that mountain and the man that held his heart in his hands for over twenty years and crushed it in a single moment. 

_Go somewhere. Anywhere but there._

Everything around him blurs as the celestials dashes through the woods, breaking through the undergrowth around him. His foot catches in a root and he stumbles, crashing into the ground, sliding down a hill. It takes a long time before he finally stills, just lying on the damp ground, breathing heavily. He is surrounded by nothing but peace and calm, undisturbed nature and then he feels. He feels everything at once. _And screams._

Jaskier screams until he's hoarse and even more some until he's choking on his sobs. Agony pulses inside him, tearing him apart and he cries out his pain to the heavens above. It's dark again when the tears die down and he lies there, staring at nothing.

He lost everything, everything good he once had. No home to go to, no friends to stay with, nobody giving a shit about him. His mother is silent, too. It's mocking him like a wordless _I told you so_.

Closing his eyes, he surrenders at life's inevitability. He should have known better. But he loved him so much. Still does. _Geralt..._

The light inside him flickers, sparking up for a last time before it extinguishes, leaving only darkness behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this I used all prompts I got by now (Jaskier treating injuries, tending to flowers and making a crown of them for Geralt, nightmares of him dying).
> 
> So if you have any :) let me know. I'll try to include them


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end guys! 
> 
> A brief idea and 20k words later this story comes to an end. Thank your for 135 subscriptions, 192 kudos, 45 bookmarks and 18 comments on this story.
> 
> For someone usually sticking to 2k tops oneshots, this has been quite a journey. I'm glad I could make it with you.
> 
> Enjoy the grand finale now. You deserve a treat after suffering through the last one.

He's back. He can feel it. The pleasant hum of Melitele's realm surrounds him like a soft blanket. It's peaceful, calming him after his flurry of emotion. There's nothing to worry about here. Everything is gentle and warm. Safe. Jaskier keeps his eyes closed for a little longer, basking in its glow. He's not ready to face the truth just yet.

He failed.

Mother tried to warn him but feelings got the best of him. He should have been more careful, should have seen the signs. Love is a thing that comes to him easy, he's loving so many things. One man he loves most. The irony is cruel, it lead to his downfall. There are no more tears within him left to cry. He spilled them all on the ground he lay on for far too long. Frankly he regrets nothing, no matter what its cost. Still it  _ hurts _ .

A gentle touch brushes through his hair, calming his chaotic thoughts. His mother is here, her presence hasn't left his side since his arrival. She worries for him, it resonates through their connection. He is sorry for troubling her. It's not what he wants.

" _ Welcome back my sweet Jaskier,"  _ her voice is just as loving as he remembers it, " _ for a second I feared I lost you forever. I was able to save you before it was too late." _

The plane around them is also the same, bright and void of any colours. He opens his eyes, not saying anything. No words come to him in this moment. He's resting on his mother's lap like a little child while she pets his locks. If he doesn't move, maybe he can enjoy it for a little longer.

" _ I'm sorry dear child, for letting you suffer for so long. It's part of your duty to endure the strains of the new life you were gifted with. But this,"  _ she trails off, her unseeing eyes looking away _ , "has gone too far. _ "

She's right. She's always right.

" _ You served your purpose well, darling buttercup. It was my pride and joy to see you spread your love and kindness into the world. You deserve time to rest, to heal. You will stay with me and your siblings from now on and you will witness the pain fade away. _ "

He's looking up into her face, finds only understanding and love there. Water raises inside cornflower blue eyes once more. Maybe there still are some tears left. He is often wrong, it seems.

His voice is not more than a weak breathy whisper as he utters, "You promise?"

Because it still hurts, so so much.

She nods and presses a gentle kiss against his temple.

" _ I promise, love." _

+++

Melitele is a goddess true to her words. Jaskier feels better with every minute passing here, in his home. He wonders how this never came to his mind. This is the place he belongs. It is wiser not to leave again.

He's returning back to his tasks at hand, guiding the souls entering their realm. There are a lot of them, their swell becoming greater and greater. Almost all of them are distressed, mourning the loss of their life through unjust violence at Nilfgaardian hands. 

The celestial still has his body this time. It aids him in his doing, a kind human face is welcomed more openly by those coming and he embraces them with his wings, chasing away their sorrow. He has grown quite a bit over the last two decades. Jaskier is one of the best in their league and his family is very proud of him.

Just as time flows by the aching of his soul lessens. The cracks inside disappear, one after another, mending slowly into a whole being again. His heart is repaired as is his soul.

Sometimes he muses why he was hurting so much in the first place. There's nothing coming up, no matter how hard he tries to remember. All his memories have trickled away, like sand washed from the shore, leaving no trail behind he could follow. Everything - every song, every picture, all of it. Gone. 

He frowns, trying to keep that thought. All of what? He doesn't know, he can't remember. Somehow he's not bothered by that. Maybe there has been nothing in the first place. Maybe he is just making things up.

On rare occasions there's a flash of colour brushing his mind. 

Golden eyes. 

White hair. 

A small smile on pale lips. 

Jaskier wonders what this could be. Who this could be that touches his heart.  _ But he can't remember _ . Once there has been a name on the tip of his tongue, now there's just a blank spot. Still he wonders. He's calm, content, whole again but wonders. What it could be, he might be missing.

It's probably for the better. It's better not to hurt anymore. He smiles and returns back to his siblings' side.

+++

The fall of Cintra floods them with new souls to take care of. Their sheer mass is sending a strange tingle down his spine, his eyes searching for something in the crowd they form. He isn't sure what it is. Something that could be his but at the same time is not. Without further clues he finds nothing and is redirected to another task soon.

Jaskier works relentlessly, never faltering in his faith or posture. Some essences passing through, feel familiar in a way. Time is short though, so he can't reach out to them. He lets them go, solely serving his purpose.

+++

Whispers travel through their ranks shortly after. The no-more-bard is off-duty when it happens, enjoying some free time. Often his mind wanders and reaches nowhere. His heart longs for something. His inside are churning dreadfully but he can't figure out why. He's positively pouting about not being able to find what ails him, when two of the other celestials pass through the area he chose to recline to.

" _ It's the White Wolf they say." _

White Wolf? Certainly has a ring to it. Like he heard that before. But that's impossible. He'd remember then.

" _ He's bound to fall to a group of ghouls. Nasty scoundrels, they are. _ "

" _ Too bad really, the Witcher always fought well. He was so close to finding his destiny." _

White Wolf. The Witcher. Destiny.

His heart races, blood rushing in his ears. 

He knows that, he knows he does. Why can't he remember?

_ Why, why, why, why - WHY?! _

" _ All of them are going to die one day. His time has come. Maybe he can rest then." _

The Witcher dies? The Witcher-

The-

_ Geralt. _

With sudden force all his faded memories crush down on him again and he yelps, struggling to breath though he doesn't need it. Within the blink of an eye he remembers everything.

Twenty-two years. Oxenfurt. The djinn. The mountain. His broken heart. He loves Geralt. 

_ Geralt! _

That big dumb idiot Witcher! He can't be gone for more than few days top and he's already in trouble. No not just trouble - he's about to die.

_ FUCK! _

He's on his feet in an instant and spreads his wings. Every second is precious and he cannot waste any of it.

_ Hold on Geralt, for just a bit longer. I'm coming. _

+++

Melitele is not hard to find, never far away or out of reach. His landing is far from perfect, more an ugly thump of his body falling to the plane and he opens his mouth to speak.

"Mother, please I must-"

" _ No. _ "

Jaskier gasps, his mouth stays open. He can't believe what he just heard. His mother is nothing but kind and forgiving, not even angry about his failure. How could she not even listen to his plea?

_ "I'm aware what it is you seek me out for. My answer stays the same, _ " 

her face gives nothing away of what she's feeling, all neutral and patient, 

" _ I will not allow for you to be hurt again, Jaskier. I saved you once - a second time even I might fail. Going back would lead to your demise and I'm unwilling to risk that. I don't want to lose you. _ "

She's looking at him, steadily.

" _ Sometimes we have to accept what is, we cannot change one's destiny. _ "

A feeling is raising within him and his hands begin to tremble. Is it despair? Is it fear? Is it desperation?

No, he finds, it's not. It's an old friend. _Rage_.

"With all due respect mother - this is utter bullshit!"

He spouts this without a hint of remorse. Because it's true. Melitele is visibly shocked by his uproar.

" _ Jaskier- _ "

"No, no Jaskier, whatsoever! You know it's not his destiny to die today. You know what it  _ truly _ is," 

he won't waver, not take a step back. He fights and defends, protects and pushes on. Like he was taught to do, what his duty is,

"Geralt has the potential of bringing so much good to the continent if only given another chance! You gave me one and am I not a valuable asset?"

The brunette raises his chin defiantly, positively glaring.

"And I can save him - with or without your permission, I will do it. You cannot change my mind. One way or another you will lose me. It's your choice to pick one."

Silence follows. The two of them not willing to speak after his enraged fit. It stretches so long, it turns uncomfortable. The tension can be cut with a knife. 

The goddess relents first.

" _ Leaving this realm without my permission would mean eternal banishment, Jaskier. You would be an outcast, your gift nothing but a scorched reminder of what you once had _ ," 

her voice is serious but not hostile. She doesn't seem to take offense in his temper, 

" _ Is he worth it? Losing your home forever  _ ?"

The answer is laughably easy to find. He doesn't need to dwell on it.

"Yes, mother."  _ He is and more. _

Because Geralt is his true home. Even with his constipated emotions, evil temper and other strange ticks, Jaskier loves the other man more than his own life. Truly so. He could never forgive himself for letting him die, doing nothing to help him.

_ Love. _ His being pulses with it. That's what he does best. He loves. 

Oh and he talks but that's not important right now.

Melitele looks at him, takes in his form, his face. Then she smiles.

_ "Oh my sweet child, you've come so far." _

She reaches down and scoops him up on her hand. The other doesn't fight it. Instead he leans into her touch. He doesn't want to argue with her. But he'll protect what he treasures most, at all cost.

" _ What kind of mother were I to deny you true love. Though I dread to let you go, I only wish you the best. I hope you can reach him in time. _ "

Her lips brush over his soul, bidding him goodbye once more. Jaskier closes his eyes, recognising the sensation of the fall to the plane below.

Just this time it's different. This time he's prepared.

+++

In a pillar of light, he breaks through the treetops, his appearance lighting up the area. He's burning like a furnace in pitch-black darkness and the ghouls screech, instantly focusing on him. Jaskier wastes no time as they charge on him. He was bound not to harm beings harbouring a soul but these vile creatures are far from that. Nothing more than rotting flesh feasting on remnants.

Releasing a huge blast of his grace, he rains righteous justice on them. The light he sends out pierces through their bodies like blades, impaling them and instantly reducing their bodies to ash. Not a single one survives the attack and the blinding light fades into a warm glow surrounding his body, his wings slowly fading out of existence. Looking around, he finds the area touched by his gift blooming with life. Ferns and flowers adorn the ground, mushrooms are sprouting on a fallen tree. The woods feel healthy and untainted and that makes him smile.

And then there's Geralt standing in its middle, looking like he just hit a brick wall. His mouth stands open in pure confusion, his stare fixed on Jaskier, gaping like a fish. The now-again-bard huffs. It's adorable like always. Due to his rushed departure and the urgency to arrive, he has not prepared what to say once they meet.

_ Stay calm, you can do it. _

"Hey…" he says and oh wow. That sounded lame, even to his ears.

"Hey." the other returns, still stunned.

There they are - two master conversationalists at work. His mother is probably laughing tears about this hilarious nonsense.

He's about to say more when the Witcher pales, more than usually, and falls to his knees with a grunt. Jaskier rushes to his side, holding him steady, checking for injuries. There, on his left thigh, is an ugly bite mark, oozing black substance. Ghoul bites are poisonous to Witchers and humans alike. They tend to end in the victim's death, only to be turned into the wretched creature that had bestowed this upon them.

He curses under his breath, trying to work out a solution. His powers might have recuperated but he never dealt with deadly poison before. Failure meant death but doing nothing too. It makes him shiver in fear. Hopefully Geralt has stored a useful potion in Roach's saddlebags. He just has to-

"I'm... sorry." Geralt wheezes out, forehead shining with cold sweat. The brunettes head whips around, looking at his friend.

"Geralt, please, that's not the right time! Do you carry anything, I can treat that wound with? Please tell me you do!" 

His voice pitches higher at his plea, shrill, making him wince. The other trembles heavily in his hold, straining to stay awake. 

"There's… a potion… Jaskier, I… I-"

Falling unconscious mid-sentence, Jaskier wants to yell in frustration. He cradles the body of his love close, his well-known heat even hotter against his skin as he burns up with fever. 

Knowing no better, the kisses the others temple, breathing in his scent.

_ Please don't leave me again. I need you. _

+++

Geralt, being the noble man he always is, has picked the fight with the ghouls to save another to begin with. The man is a traveling merchant named Yurga and he offers to take Geralt and him to his house in the woods, so he can be treated properly. He doesn't seem to be overly fazed by his flashy entry like it's normal for heavenly being to fall from the sky. During his career he has probably witnesses stranger things.

Roach isn't surprised to see him. She just mouths at him as he approaches, untying her reigns and attaching her to the cart they put Geralt on. He pets her neck, places little kisses to her soft fur. She has always been the cleverest of their little lot.

"Hello my dear. I missed you much."

The bard checks on her once more, then he climbs into the cart as well and goes to work. He's not a healer, far from it. But he has to make this or Geralt will die. No way this will happen under his watch.

Ugly, black lines creep their way over the Witcher's skin. The poison spreads quickly through his body. Swallowing, he lies his hands on the wound, concentrating on the vile fluid pulsing inside.

"I'm sorry my dear Witcher, this will hurt a lot."

He leans closer, his powers sinking into the substance wrongly coursing through human veins like claws into flesh. And then he pulls.

Geralt's reaction is immediate, a hoarse cry of pain tearing through the air. He tries to hold him still, putting his weight on top of the other's burly body, his hands still pressed on the wound. Geralt doesn't stop screaming or trashing in his grip, body convulsing in agony. Jaskier wants to cry but can't relent. He needs to get all of the toxin out and he can feel it welling up from under his hands. Yurga worries about what's going on back there but he ensures him it is alright. He got this, he has to.

" _ Just a little more my love,"  _

he chants under his breath, the heavenly tongue soothing the shaking and flickering essence in front of him,

" _ don't give up, I'm here with you. I won't leave. Keep fighting." _

The fever makes the Witcher rumble in restless not-sleep. He calls many names, again and again. Renfri. Visenna. Vesemir.  _ Yennefer _ .

He grumbles under his breath. Of course she'd be there as well. Geralt loves her and he can't change that. Acceptance is key and he's keen to use it in order to make the man happy.

After what feels like eternity, the wound is finally just exuding normal blood. Jaskier cleans the reminders of the black substance with his sleeve, before ripping it off and tossing it away. No need to mourn something that's ruined anyway. He can now focus on accelerating the Witcher's already higher regeneration and the wound clogs over, healing at the seams soon after. A relieved sigh falls from his lips, his shoulders shaking.

They did it. Geralt is alive.

Jaskier chuckles, patting the other's face in a fond manner. His heart pulses with joy and love, sweeping over his other halves core, cradling it in a soft embrace. It's nice to pretend it's just the Witcher and the bard again, the White Wolf and the lark. Geralt and Jaskier.

But the winds turn and it stinks of rotten chaos and death and he knows his mission is not over yet. There's one more thing left to do. A thing he knows the other needs.

So he kisses the man in his arms, softly and filled with emotion, a gentle brush of lips on lips. It feels as perfect as he imagined and he will hold that memory close to his silly heart for the rest of his existence. Shame Geralt isn't awake to respond. Maybe it's better that way. He doesn't have to face the inevitable rejection then.

Jaskier gets to his feet, careful not to startle the sleeping Witcher and turns to Yurga, still manoeuvring the cart.

"Thank you for your kind help, dear Yurga, but I must bid farewell for now. Please look out for this big oaf, I have business to attend and will return soon."

With a whooshing motion his wings unfold from his back, shining in the sunlight like flames. A strong leap carries him off the cart, higher into the sky, closer towards Sodden where dark smoke rises from the battle field. Just as he departs, the white-haired man opens his eyes, still dazed with sleep, mumbling a quiet,

_ "Jaskier…" _

+++

The air over Sodden is soaked with the stench of fire and dark magic, he has to keep himself from gagging. Luckily the thick smoke rising from the ground, hides his arrival from the battle lines, otherwise they might have targeted him. The ground is littered with a sheer endless number of corpses. The soil is tainted red with spilled blood, still the black armour of Nilfgaard's soldiers nearly drowns it out along the brown of the earth below. Scouting the area, he can't miss a huge wave of fire engulfing the dark army, turning the humans to coal and ash, their screams piercing through the thundering roar of the flames. Commanding these flames, and the chaos bringing them to life, is Yennefer of Vengerberg, screaming at the top of her lungs. He found her but he has to hurry. The wind tousles his hair in his rush downwards.

Swooping in mere seconds before her body can dissipate from her overuse of magic, he links his hands with her, ending the spell and letting his energy pulse through her core. She instantly goes limp in his arms, exhausted from the strain put on her body and he holds her tight, checking for injury. She'll need a proper nursing but her heart still beats strong. She will survive. They have to get away now.

They take off together before anyone can notice their departure, the smoke helping to conceal their joined forms once more. Jaskier can't bring her too far, not after fighting off the ghouls and healing Geralt, saving him from imminent death. He lands in the woods furthest from Sodden, his wings not being able to carry them anymore and sinks to the ground, careful not to jostle the sorceress too much. He's exhausted beyond belief but they can't stay here. They need to keep moving. They need to find Geralt.

Purple eyes look at him once more. This time it's not as menacing as the last time they met. It gives him chills nevertheless. The dark-haired mage pulls free from his grasp, stumbling away, not tearing her gaze away from him like he could jump her any second.

_ As if. _

"What are you?" she sneers, noting it lacks the usual bite. She's weak, only spite and her instinct for survival keeping her up right. Jaskier still respects her, even after all the pain she brought upon him and only snorts in return.

"Missed you too, Yennefer."

The world around him sways for a second when he stands and he takes another minute to steady himself. He's not faring that much better but they really have to go. Now.

"And you're welcome, you know. The whole 'saving you' thing? It was my pleasure."

The celestial comes closer and grips her arm before he can react, sending another pulse of energy through her body to give her a reserve she can draw on for the walk. It makes him see stars, he shakes his head to chase them away. Not now. Not yet.

"We need to keep moving with the Nilfgaardians so close. Geralt is not far, we can reach him-"

She's ripping her arm free once more, hissing at him like an angry cat.

"Don't tell me what to do! I didn't need your help and I'm surely not going anywhere near that blasted Witcher."

Their eyes met in a heated duell of glares. The last thing he needs is some stupid hurt pride endangering them even more. He budges not, just squares his shoulders, fed up with childish drama.

"Excuse me Yennefer but I don't have a single fuck left to give. Whatever it is about your little tryst with Geralt, it can surely wait until we make it out alive! I'm not dragging your sorry hind from the brink of disappearing, to deal with this nonsense now. Geralt loves you and he needs you. So please - please! - be the second responsible adult in this hairwire adventure and come with me. We can sort out the details later."

Yennefer's lips are pressed in a tight line, while she crosses her arms and sniffs, pointedly looking into another direction.

"Fine… where to?"

+++

They walk in silence, only the noise of snapping twigs and their footsteps on the ground accompanying them. It's a pleasant thing for once, normally he detests the lack of words in the air. Now it's easier. Like this it's enough to place one foot in front of the other. A step, then another and another. Carrying his body towards the lovely light of his Witcher's soul. 

He's tired. So, so tired. But they have to keep moving. He can't-

"He doesn't love me."

The statement startles him out of the haze that settles over his mind. His face seems to speak volumes, even if his lips can't find any words. Yennefer ducks under a branch, then continues.

"He doesn't. He never has. His stupid wish might have linked us in destiny but this… this pull between us. It's not real, not ours. I can feel that now and it makes me sick."

Her eyes are trained on the way lying in front of them. Jaskier senses her pain, rather that he sees it.

"What we have is twisted lust and it's not healthy for either of us. I want it gone as quickly as possible." 

A feeling passes through lilac eyes, he knows it so well. Longing. For something out of her reach. 

"There is someone else for me. As well as for him. And I'm sure, he knows that by now."

They look at each other, this time it's no duell. No fight between them. They are two souls separated from the ones they love. 

Isn't that ironic? Under different circumstances they might have become goods friends. Now it's just them, estranged rivals, trampling through the woods in a quest to find their way back to their destiny.

+++

They encounter Geralt not far from Yurga's house, locked in a tight embrace with his Child Surprise. It's funny seeing them like this - content, relieved and  _ like they were meant to be _ . Jaskier will ensure his friend will never hear the end of that. It will be a nice story to tell at all uncomfortable opportunities. Maybe he will turn it into a song.

Yennefers and his arrival doesn't pass unnoticed, the girl instantly looking into their direction. She really is the spitting image of her mother, even more as a smile lights up her features. She recognises the bard from her court.

"Jaskier!"

He bows a little, as much he can handle now. 

"My dearest Cirilla - it is a pleasure and a blessing to see you again, in the arms of your destiny fulfilled."

Both Geralt and Ciri look at him in the same confused manner and he can't shake the adoration he feels for them.

They're safe for now and united, the four of them. Everything is right. Geralt will protect the princess and Yennefer can teach her in the ways of magic. They'll travel together and he will sing her some songs. 

It's all well, he thinks, his vision going blurry at the edges, then dark, surrendering into the lure of exhaustion.

+++

Jaskier awakes at night, buried under a stack of soft pelts on his bedroll next to a crackling fire. Yennefer and Ciri are fast asleep on the opposite side, huddled closely together. He tries to sit up and groans from the effort. Definitely not his best idea today.

"Don't push yourself. You need the rest."

Geralt sits next to him, seated on a log, carving something out of a piece of wood. Maybe for a trap, he plans to set up.

He nods and accepts the water offered to him, taking deeps gulps out of the wooden bowl. It feels cold running down his throat, soothing the roughness there, left behind from the smoke earlier. Some berries and vegetables are pushed towards him next. His stomach grumbles at the sight. He didn't realise how hungry he was until now and digs in.

"So… you are… what exactly? An angel?"

He's not surprised Geralt wants to clarify this situation. He's a monster hunter with a supernatural being close at hand. Hopefully he believes that he means no harm, he never did.

"I think I prefer the term 'celestial' but the essence is correct. I'm a spirit sent to this continent by the all-mother Melitele, to spread joy and good things among the living."

The other grunts in acknowledgement. 

"So that's the reason your frowning when someone uses her name for a curse. Or at least certain body parts. They are insulting your mother."

Jaskier frowns again at the thought. He heard it thousand times over and still felt offended. 

"It's undignifying and uncalled for. I wonder what they had to say, if I would talk in this manner about their mothers."

The Witcher huffs, smiling a bit. Their eyes meet for a moment, then his gaze returns to his handiwork.

"Thank you for… saving me. Both from the ghouls and the aftereffects of their poison." 

his hands still, like he's pondering over resuming the task but instead he sheats the knife in his belt, 

"there was someone holding my hand, keeping me from going. It was you, wasn't it?"

Golden eyes rest on him and he shivers with delight. He missed them upon his skin. 

He nods. Geralt turns to look at the fire this time, seemingly unsure how to proceed.

"You also saved Yennefer. Why?"

The bard winces as he sits up. It feels better that way. It doesn't make him feel fragile.

"You called for her in your fever throes. For many people to be fair, but her name was the only one I recognised besides Vesemir's. I assumed you wanted her to be with you."

Slowly the other man nods. 

"Ciri needs her. The power inside the girl is strong but she can't control it... yet."

Another bigger branch is thrown into the flames. It crackles while the fire eats it away. The Witcher makes a noise like he's choking on something, which is pretty strange and definitely not fitting the mood. It makes him chuckle.

"Most of all I… I needed you."

Jaskier turns his head to outright stare at his companion, dumbfounded by this confession. He hears his pulse thundering in his ears.

"But you said - on the mountain, you said I'm-"

"I know, what I said!" 

Geralt snarls and turns away, gritting his teeth. He's really not good with words but he's trying. So Jaskier lets him talk. They need to work on that im the future.

"The moment you left, I knew I fucked it up, badly. It's not your fault, nothing that happened is. I was just so angry at myself, failing yet another person in my life and I took it out on you."

His shoulders slump, his whole body burdened with guilt. 

"It was unfair to blame you. For the last decades you were the only one always staying at my side, no matter what shit I found myself in. I'm a piss poor excuse of a friend and you deserve better than me. But I…" 

Teeth grace over the flesh of the Witcher's bottom lip, worrying it, 

"Once you were gone, it dawned on me. I need you. Not the other way around. Your smile and your songs and your endless chatter. All of it. You're the light in my life, Jaskier and I mean it."

Geralt's words are heavy with meaning.

"I'm sorry. Truly am. I tried to find you after you left. I couldn't and then Nilfgaard was close to attacking Cintra…". 

A hint of hesitation taints the deeps voice upon adding, 

"I could understand if you're unwilling to forgive me for all that."

Tears well up in his eyes. For the first time in a long while, these are happy ones. Because that's what he is. Happy.

Wiping them away, he chortles into quiet laughter. 

"Wow this was probably the longest I heard you talk in like ever. Not counting the times you mumble in your sleep."

Geralt hums, accepting payback on his remark from years ago. He probably didn't even expect a response in the first place. Jaskier won't grant him that mercy.

"I accept your apology." 

he says, without missing a beat, a playful smile on his lips, 

"You know I can never stay mad at you for long. So I accept your apology and your plea for my renewed company under one condition."

They look at each other again. Something pure and beautiful grows in its wake. The Witcher and his bard.

"Don't leave me again. I mean look at this mess - I've been gone for a week? Two at most? And you nearly died."

"I was also imprisoned."

"You were WHAT-?!"

Can one believe this man? Talking nonchalantly about his almost death and imprisonment. He's absolutely insane and hilarious. It makes Jaskier laugh, for real this time, loud and heartily and Geralt joins in with a low chuckle. It feels good to be back.

He's wiping his eyes again, laughter slowly dying down as the other blurts out, 

"May I kiss you?"

_ It's happening. It's really happening! _

After all the time of longing, of him being weak and wanting.

He nods quickly, "Y-yes, of course!"

He didn't squeak, nu-uh. Definitely did  _ not _ happen.

Geralt's lips meet his and a jolt of electricity runs through him. Warmth blossoms in his chest, a tingle running through his soul. Jaskier feels whole again.

_ It's their bond. It's back where it belongs. _

His heart feels like it's about to burst of pure happiness.

There's no urgency behind their kiss, a share of gentle sensation between them. It leaves him breathless when they part, watching his lover's handsome face.

"Come to Kaer Morhen with us. I want you to meet my fellow Witchers."

_ Oh Melitele, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry! _

For a moment he closes his eyes. This has to be a dream. Or he died again and his senses play a cruel trick on him. This feels too good to be considered truth.

He opens them again. Geralt is still there, looking at him, waiting for an answer. He definitely glows this time, radiating the sheer joy pulsing through his veins.

"Yes, I'd love to. There's no place I'd rather be."

And that was true. Because he's home now. Truly home.

+++

The next day during their travel the down the lesser known roads towards Kaer Morhen, Ciri inquires about what he has done during the time Geralt and him were apart.

So he answers truthfully.

He blindly ran down a mountain, stumbled and nearly broke his neck, basically died but then didn't, regained his memories over hearing of Geralts incompetence to stay alive without him and nearly threw hands with a real goddess in order to return to him in time and swoop in to save the day.

He pretends not to hear the sounds of his Witcher choking on some water he was drinking and strums up a melody on his lute.

Yes, definitely feels like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's a wrap ♡
> 
> Kindly mind that comments and feedback brighten the author's day. Also feel free to check out my other stories for more Geraskier AUs.
> 
> I will update the bonus for 'Three wishes' and the second half of 'Rivulets on your skin' next.
> 
> Stay safe guys!


	7. Bonus: It's not fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier accompanies Geralt to Khaer Morhen and meets the other Witchers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG guys what a marathon...
> 
> This started with me thinking of doing 'a little bonus' as all of you are just precious and I adore your thoughts on this.
> 
> Turned out a little is nearly 9000 words and uff. Here I go with no knowledge of the games and books, knowing the characters with only the little I've seen in videos or read in stories.
> 
> Besides that I always try to read up in Witcher Wiki so I added Mignole (though changed) and Deirdre for good measure. Somehow this also turned into a song fic bc the Amazing devil and Joey's voice in the song are just *chef's kiss*.
> 
> I like how this all turned out. I hope you can enjoy it to.

The way to Kaer Morhen is challenging.

The old paths through the mountains are tricky, icy winds cut through their clothes and more than once they encounter a local beast on their way. Geralt is able to chase them off or they make sure to hide in time until they disappear again. They need to avoid unwanted attention under all circumstances. Constant breaks are intercepting a quick arrival at the fortress. But Ciri is a child after all, weakened from running for the last weeks. She's tough but unaccustomed to the harsh climate around them. Wrapped in one of Geralt's thick coats she's sitting on Roach's back while they quietly follow the road higher up into the mountains. Yennefer doesn't fare much better - she's recuperating gradually but the explosion of chaos still took a toll on her. If not for Jaskier's intervention, she might have died there, on the scorched battle fields of Sodden.

The bard is handling the whole situation slightly better. He's cold from the constant flurry and snowflakes landing on his hair and body, chillin it but he manages. He uses the light inside him to pull some warmth into his slowly numbing fingers. He does so with his companions as well, warming them up with his essence during the rests they take, but he can't go on like that for much longer. They need to reach the Witcher school, soon at best.

Nimble fingers make their way across the lute strings, trying to come up with a cheerful tune. A few notes fill the air, then yet another slip of hand. Jaskier winces at the screech his poor instrument produces. She deserves better than that but he's distracted. Terrified maybe. An utter wreck of nerves.

He's going to meet the other Witchers. Geralt's family. He dreamed about this for years and now he's trembling, from the cold and with anxiety.

What if they don't like him? If he says something wrong and embarrasses his wolf in front of his comrades? What if Vesemir, basically a father to the man he loves, doesn't deem him worthy of being with him?

It would utterly destroy him, for sure. His heart will break anew. Maybe not as bad as at the mountain, but… but pretty close. He needs to make a good impression or else he'll never be able to face them again. And that would mean to keep Geralt away from his family or being separated from him again. Both options sound horrible.

"Don't be nervous. They'll like you just fine."

Geralt walks with him upfront, leading Roach on her reigns. His distress seems to alert the other, coaxing him to talk.

"You're good at… people stuff. I give them a week, max and you'll be considered one of us."

One of them. What a lovely thought. To be an accepted part of the Wolf Witcher pack. A spark of excitement runs through him thinking of that. He flashes his love a grateful smile.

"That would be most wonderful. I can't wait to meet everyone."

A snort answers him. The silver-haired man looks back ahead.

"I'm sure the pleasure is all theirs."

The layer of sarcasm is thick, dripping from the words. Jaskier wonders what this could be about. Maybe a friendly rivalry between the Witchers? From the stories Geralt told they could be downright mischievous.

He resumes his composing, careful not to slip on the frozen ground under his feet, his heart pounding rapidly with a mix of emotion, all coiled into one.

_ 'It's what my heart just yearns to say, in ways that can't be said. It's what my rotting bones will sing when the rest of me is dead.' _

Soon, dear heart, soon. Be quiet just for some more.

+++

The sight of the keep floods them with relief. Fed up with the weather and constant dangers of nature, their steps pick up in speed, even though they travel up all those gruesome stairs. One right after the other. The promise of a warm hearth and a meal keeps them going strong. Sooner than expected the gates are coming into view. Someone is already waiting for them there.

The man is not much shorter than Geralt, also strong in build, dark hair falling into his face. His clothing choice is surprisingly colourful compared to his wolf and familiar yellow eyes are shining bright in the rare rays of sun breaking through the clouds. His jaw is sharp like a fine blade, but his features hold a genuine kindness to them. Jaskier can't help to notice the large scars adorning his face. They make him no less beautiful.

The other Witcher waits patiently for them to come close, visibly amused, smiling openly at their approach. What a curious sight, considering the usual grim that Geralt's face tends to hold.

"Was it too much to ask to send a note ahead, informing us that you're traveling with an entourage? We could have prepared some rooms in time."

Geralt grunts.

"Plans change. It's good to see you."

Then he pulls the other close and they share a tight embrace. There's a strong bond between the two and the bard has a assumption who this could be. Saying nothing, he waits for them to separate, not wanting to interfere. They let go soon after, the dark-haired Witcher signals them to get inside.

"The name's Eskel. Now come, we have time for pleasantries later. It's fucking cold out here and you look worse for wear. Let's get you warmed up."

The keep of Kaer Morhen is nothing short of impressive. Sure the building might need some repairs but the old walls pulse with history, filled with memories and emotion. It sends a shiver down the celestial's spine, seeing the high towers up close.

_ 'It's what's engraved upon my heart, in letters deeply worn. Today I somehow understand the reason I was born.' _

There's something hanging in the air, a subtle melancholy as the winds howls through the yard. It whispers to him, faint impressions of what once has been. Beautiful and terrifying. Laughter and screams, red blood on snow.

"Jaskier!"

Whipping around he sees Geralt wait for him on the way inside. The aura of this place sends his senses spinning, luring him to wander off but he shoves it away. There's something else to take care of.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!"

+++

There are enough empty rooms for all of them. They change into dry clothes first, not eager to fall sick any time soon. Jaskier also has his own quarter, though he would have preferred to stay with Geralt. It's nothing they can't fix, the chambers not far from another. 

They could sneak into each other's room at night, like love-sick teens, cuddling under the furs, face to face, heart to heart. What a lovely concept to dwell on.

Unfortunately the matter of spare clothes is more of a problem. With his rushed return to this realm and the need to hide the princess from the Nilfgaardian forces on their trail, he barely had any chance to restock on his traveling gear. Good thing Geralt held on to his lute while he left after their argument on the mountain, too hurt to care back then. Without any performances to avoid any kind of attention, it leaves him with the clothes on his body. A creative solution is close at hand.

"Jaskier? That's a skirt."

The look of utter confusion on Cirilla's face is adorable. Seeing the bard in Yennefer's clothes is an unusual thing for her. Ever since their involuntary march through the woods, they have been on more civil terms. In these moments, where they just sit next to each other, exchanging a story or indulge in a teasing banter, it feels like they could be friends. It's comforting in a way, seeing how all this grows together, after all the pain it caused. Like a wound that's slowly healing.

So the dark-haired sorceresses took pity on him and conjured up one of her typical apparels for the bard to wear. The dark fabric reaching down to his ankles is surprisingly soft on his skin and the matching blouse clings tightly to his chest, emphasizing his shoulders and waistline. Its deep blue colour makes his eyes stand out even more. The whole design is sleeker than what she normally prefers, but it suits him rather well. For good measure he still wears a pair of snug undergarments to save on body warmth. The fortress itself is pretty chilly without a fire nearby.

They agreed to meet up in the banquet hall for a proper introduction. Yennefer is already seated at a table with the princess, when he joins them. Cocking his head, he's looking at the still puzzled girl.

"I know."

"But that's for girls."

Jaskier can't help to huff.

"Clothes have no sex, my dear. They are just a piece of fabric, made to cover a body. Humans tend to ascribe them to a certain gender but this is not a concept I tend to indulge in. I see no reason why a skirt could not be worn by men and women alike, as they do so with pants."

With a wink he adds, "Also I like this look on me. It compliments my waist."

Ciri seems to mull over his words, taking a moment, before nodding. Yennefer seems pleased. Geralt is nowhere in sight, probably filling in the background of their company to his fellow Witchers. Fiddling with the fabric in hand, he sits down next to them, trying his best to calm his fluttering nerves. The heavy doors open with Geralt entering with Eskel at his side, both carrying steaming bowls of food. Jaskier feels his stomach growl at the heavenly scent drifting towards them. He didn't realize just how hungry he is.

Two men follow in their wake, looking stern and taciturn. Jaskier has not met many Witchers during his life on this plane, but it seems that Eskel is an exception. His relaxed attitude is a welcoming change to the usual rough grunts and low hums, chatting with him on the way to their rooms was easy and enlightening. Jaskier took an instant liking to the man, hoping they can later spend more time together.

The black-haired man with short cropped hair and sour face covered in stubble has to be Lambert. Geralt mentioned him on the way here, describing him in a colourful variation of insults. Their bonds seems to be close, but not as close as Eskel's, the way the white-haired Witcher called him a "fuckface" and a " piece of shit" still contained a hidden fondness. Talking about their feelings probably isn't a strong suit of both of these knuckleheads.

So the other has to be Vesemir. One of the oldest Witchers alive and Geralt's father figure. His sturdy form brims with experience of walking the path for decades. He's broad shouldered with grey hair falling over it, strong presence and bright eyes, no less sharp than his younger protégés. He's looking right at Jaskier, gaze fixated on him after brushing over the rest.

His mouth feels dry like a dune. Is this a good sign? A bad one? He has no idea and it drives him mad.

The food provides an efficient distraction. Still feeling golden eyes linger on him, the bard tries to act as unphased as possible, slowly eating the soup provided. It's really good and the warmth spreading inside his body makes him relax a bit. In the end Lambert is the first one to break the silence. He sits with Geralt, opposite of the sorceress.

"So that's your child surprise, hmn? A princess with strange magical powers you tried running from and failed... rings a bell, don't you think?"

Jaskier doesn't know what he's referring to, but Geralt obviously does, a deep growl rolling from his throat. A shadow passes Eskel's face, his soul losing some of its brightness too. A painful memory then.

Without really realising, he's blurting out, "Stop that, you hurt him."

That might have been an overreaction but he is protective of those he holds dear. Faces are turning into his directions and he feels himself flush at the intense stare of both younger Witchers. Geralt smirks, nodding.

"He's got a point. Shut up Lambert, nobody gives a fuck anyway."

Lambert snarls in return.

"As you're the one to talk, you arse. And the fuck is this? You said he's a bard, not some..." trailing off, he vaguely gestures into Jaskier's general direction.

So they know. They can probably feel it, that there's something different about him. It's funny considering how long Geralt needed to sort it out, that it took a full blown explosion of his powers to make him realise what he deals with. The approach of that topic is rather crude though, so he quips,

"Absolutely pleasant existence? Unexpectedly capable fellow? Hot piece of ass? Please feel free to choose to your liking, I'm not picky."

The hissed reply of "That's not, what I meant!" is interrupted by a curt gesture of Vesemir's hand. "That's enough, Lambert. Stop this childish nonsense."

Ignoring the bitter grumble, the older Witcher resumes, "It might be true Geralt has not mentioned the fact that you are not entirely human, but I tolerate your stay in our keep. I have encountered your kin in the past and know you mean no harm. So please, do not take offense by his behaviour. No matter their age, they can't seem to shake some of their childish traits."

So Vesemir met one of his siblings on his travels. An interesting fact opening up so many possibilities. 

What had happened? Had they traveled together like Geralt and him? Why did they part ways again? 

A thousand questions buzz in his mind. He doesn't want to push that matter now, so he just nods his thanks.

Geralt looks equally stunned, eyebrow raised in a questioning frown, which makes the older scoff.

"What? Did you expect to be the only Witcher meeting a guardian angel?"

Eskel's and Lambert's jaws drop in perfect unison from visible shock.

"A what?!"

+++

So the bard is an angel. A celestial being of the heavenly plane come to this continent.

Eskel hasn't thought much of him on first sight. Jaskier is attractive for sure, with his blue eyes and slim body, fine face and dazzling smile. He looks surprisingly normal considering his true nature. He could perhaps be mistaken for a half-elf or someone with fae blood inside his veins but an angel? Hmn.

The medallion around his neck is deathly silent. It's not identifying him as a monster or magical creature either. 

There's also something soothing about his presence. Like a soft light shining on you after a cold day. A cool hand on your forehead in the throes of fever. A gentle hum lulling you to sleep after an exhausting contract.

Not that he knows much about these things - the life of a Witcher is lonely, not always by choice. No matter what he does, how friendly he treats others, how much he smiles. They see his swords. They see scars.

They see nothing but a Witcher. A monster hunting his own kind. 

More than once his good-hearted nature left him with a burn, sometimes true to the word's meaning. People feared them, despised them. Some found sick pleasure in taking advantage of their way of living, denying them help, food, shelter or the payment for a successful job. Throughout the years he fled from many villages driving him away, treating his wounds in the depth of the woods with mediocre success.

The only loyal companion he knows, is his stallion Scorpion. Ever since he claimed him as a foal through the Law of Surprise, they had been inseparable. So yeah, maybe he envies Geralt for his luck. To have a friend, someone trusting you with his life. Someone you could trust with your own. 

Of course he heard the songs about the White Wolf. The friend of humanity. He had chuckled inti his mug of ale upon hearing that nonsense for the first time. Geralt was a good man, a kind soul inside a life-hardened body. He was like a brother to Eskel and he would die for him when necessary. But Geralt? A noble knight in dark armor saving the day in a dashing stride? Total bullshit. He knew the truth, he knew the other Witcher, he knew the jobs they did. But even he can't deny the subtle changes towards him after more songs drifted over the continent. They inspired people to be more bearable. So he listened more intently to their contents, the next time he encountered a bard singing them.

Most spoke of a romanticized adventure, a hint of truth hidden below layers of exaggeration. Listening even closer he noticed other things. 

Admiration. Honest devotion. And love.

One had to be a fool not to notice the hints in the love ballads towards his brother in arms. Amber eyes? Starlight hair? Fairest complexion? Oh please. Keeping in mind how oblivious Geralt could be regarding affection, Eskel wouldn't be surprised if he didn't notice, not over all these years.

During the last years the songs grew sadder in their contents. Once he happened to be in a bar where 'Her sweet kiss' was played and ouch. Even his heart ached with the lines, filled with the emotions of a broken heart. Before that Geralt had returned as he always did, winter for winter and then it suddenly stopped, he stayed away. 

He had worried, greatly so. It wasn't unlike Geralt to bugger off for some time but not over the course of several years. The news of Cintra's fall to Nilfgaardian hand just a few weeks ago only added fuel to the fire. The Witcher is glad to see him return to Kaer Morhen, tired, cold but otherwise uninjured.

And the menagerie he brings is interesting for sure. The dark-haired sorceress is surely a feast for the eyes but experience tells him to enjoy it with caution, to take measured bites or it will choke him for being too greedy.

The child is wild, untamed and brave. She's fierce and fearless, matured from the hardships endured on her escape through the country that was once her home. She's also gifted, both with a blade and in the magical area.

Eskel watches her train in the courtyard each day, repeating the stances with Geralt over and over again. It's still a bit sloppy but she's clever, a fast learner. She'll make a great Witcher. Her blonde hair is pulled into a high ponytail while she balances the blade in her hands. They are here for almost three days now and when she turns around, blue eyes burning hot, it makes his heart ache, thinking of his child.

_ Deirdre. _

Phantom pain jolts through the scars on his face at her memory, making him wince. Their circumstances had been less than fortunate and one thing led to another. They'd never meet again, he is sure. Destiny wouldn't grant him that mercy after destroying the letter she sent without reading it.

"Care for some company?"

Jaskier appears by his side, smile in place and lute hanging on his side. He has rarely seen him without it. He's wearing a bright red ensemble today that makes the Witcher question if there's something he can't wear. The witch creating it, has a good taste for sure.

"Of course, feel free to stalk the Wolf and his cub with me."

They just stand there, watching them train, relishing in the quiet. Geralt is a patient teacher, different from what they had to deal with in their youth. He doesn't punish, just corrects. There is no yelling, only considerate praise. He told Vesemir from the start - they needed a new way to teach this girl and he bravely pulled through it. Eskel is proud of his brother.

He doesn't know why, but it feels like there's a fleeting touch to his… he doesn't know what to call it. It is gone as fast it appeared and he feels calmer now, more at ease. Glancing towards the bard, he catches the brunette looking at him, full of admiration and gentleness. Like he is seeing past the scars, directly into his core.

His heart skips a beat and he quickly fixes his gaze on the sparring duo again, trying not to bust his cool outerior.

_ What was that? _

+++

Eskel wakes this night with a scream, flying up from under the covers, chest heaving with ragged breaths. His scars burn like fire and he can almost smell the blood oozing out of the old wounds though there is none. Pressing his hands against his face, he wills them to stop shaking. But he can't. The pictures in his mind haunt him.

_ The argument. Trying to run from destiny. His hand reaching for the girl. Blinding pain. _

_ Deirdre. _

A shaky sigh passes his lips and tears sting in his eyes. Dragging himself out of the bed, dressed in just a loose pair of pants, he makes his way to the kitchen. There's no way he will find more sleep tonight. His scars throb again and he walks faster. 

Entering the banquet hall, he is met with the soft sound of a lute playing, words drifting through the air like a gentle breeze.

_ 'Cos outwardly I try so hard to make you laugh at me and you, you do. You laugh as though you not heard the joke ten thousand times before. _

_ And I adore you' _

Stilling in his movement, he waits, not wanting to interfere. The singing stops but the melody keeps playing. Blue eyes linger on him, as he's standing in the doorway and Jaskier's face softens.

"Rough night?"

Nodding curtly, he passes through the hall, heading to the kitchen and fills a mug with clear water, downing it in one motion. It does nothing to soothe the burning inside his mind. Outside the songs continues, missing not a single beat.

_ 'I'm watching you get dressed as though you're hurtling through time. Oh darling please be mine.' _

Leaving the mug in the sink, he joins the bard again, sitting next to him on.

"It's a lovely song. Like the others you made. Is this one for Geralt as well?"

Jaskier huffs quietly, smirking to himself. "Who knows? It could be for many people. An artist is never to reveal his own intentions. So everyone can think of their own idea what the song is about."

Ah poetic, of course he is, even at the dead of night. Another wave of pounding ache shoots through his head, making him sigh and he rubs his temples, closing his eyes for a moment. It helps naught.

"Why are you up that late? Surely-"

"I can make it better, if you like."

His eyes snap open again, yellow eyes meeting blue. There's something fragile inside them, something cautious, asking for permission. He's not a wounded animal in a cage but he feels like one. Trapped by memories and regrets, within the agony troubling his soul.

He can't, he shouldn't. Jaskier has no need to be involved in this. He shouldn't waste his time with a broken thing like him.

But he wants to. Good he wants it to be better. For someone to care. So he nods.

Warm hands take his, wrapping around them like a soft blanket and he's led back to his room. Not a single word is uttered on their way. Eskel is afraid it would break the fickle thing they have in this moment.

He lies back down on the bed after they reach his room, closing the doors behind them. Jaskier is there with him, sitting in the middle, guiding him to lie his head on top of his lap, finger running through his hair in slow circles.

"Yes, bring the covers up to your shoulders, so it's comfortable and nice. You deserve to have nice things, all of them to be exact."

He shudders against the contact on his scalp and closes his eyes. It's been an awful long time since anyone touched him without a hint of hesitation or fear. Even the prostitutes he paid hesitated, seeing his scarred visage and trying shy away from touching him more than necessary.

"No more of this my dear, don't dwell on these sad thoughts. You're truly beautiful, just look at your soul. So bright and kind. It's perfect. You're perfect."

The voice talking to him is gentle and he wants to believe, he really does, it's just… hard. Hard to accept to deserve nice things. Hard to accept to be enough.

"Let go Eskel, it's ok, I got you."

And like a dam breaking from the inside, he does. For a second he's afraid to fall, to hit and break but he doesn't. He falls and there's only warmth catching him. Gentle and kind. Blanketing him, holding him close like the mother he doesn't remember anymore. He let's go and relaxes as a light cradles his being, filling in what's torn and broken, making him whole again. Tears roll down his cheeks, it reverberates in his soul.

_ 'I promise you to fight them all, when it all becomes too much. And you're cursing at the world for leaving you behind and you're falling out of touch.' _

The pain inside him lessens, memories recede. He's just feeling now, in that moment, not thinking only feeling. How good it is to be held like that. Not having to be strong for once. Just being himself and cherished for that.

If this is but a dream, he wishes never to wake up again.

_ 'And you're stronger than you ever been, I know. _

_ And I brush my hand through your hair and hold you close just to keep the world at bay.' _

When he's falling deeper, he's falling into a dreamless sleep. A faint memory of a tingle on his forehead lingers in his mind, not quite reaching him anymore.

"Good night, my dear. Sweet dreams."

And he rests better than he has for a long, long time.

+++

Lambert prefers to watch from afar. Geralt is busy training the girl, teaching her how to fight for real when someone is coming for her life. She's lacking speed and precision. But she got talent, he can give her that. He's not over admitting some has potential, he just mostly prefers not to.

Eskel and that creepy bard watch them too, slaking against a crumbled wall, chatting like little girls. The other Witcher has been strangely infatuated with the brunette as of lately, dancing around him like a moth around the flame and urgh. It's disgusting. He's making a proper idiot out of himself, without even noticing.

Ever since the group arrived, he kept his distance. The witch is sexy but gives off some crazy vibes. No hotness in the world can measure up to that, so thanks no. Not hitting that. He needs to keep sure not to get to piss-poor drunk around her or his resolve might waver after all.

The girl is decent. Brash, feisty, fighting tooth and nail like an alley cat, giving a shit about the opponent's size. He respects that. He needs to make sure to teach her some of the ugly curse words, just to see Geralt's stupid face when she uses them. Pure gold.

And then there's the bard and meh. He doesn't know what to make of him. Lambert can't stand his pretty face or bratty attitude, always noisy and smiling, smothering the others with affection. It's unsettling to watch, how easy the rest rolls with it. The last thing he needs is someone fuzzing over him like a mother hen. He survived his shit-ass family. He survived the trials. He doesn't need a stupid bard now for emotional support or whatever.

Fuck him, fuck them.

"Hey Lambert, move your ass over here."

Perking up, he sees Geralt looking towards him.

"Ciri needs someone to stab with her new daggers. Would bet, she will leave some ugly holes in your old body."

He scoffs, pulling a pair of his own daggers from his hip, swaggering over.

"Betcha I'll rather leave some holes in your pretty princess."

+++

He doesn't. He's not a hundred percent dick. Who would stab a kid? Definitely not him.

The little princess can hold her own pretty well. One day she'll be a nasty one to fight. Lambert can only pity the fools trying to take her on. It will earn them a blade to the head. Or heart. Maybe the dick. He doesn't care, they'll deserve it.

The afternoon passes quickly with his participation in training and it's already evening when he notices. They're all sitting in the dining area, like a family they surely aren't and he wants to cut off some more bread to busy his mouth with, before he says more rude things, but his right hand grabs nothing. Nothing but air.

Shit. He lost one of his daggers.

The little shits had been an expensive treat, forged just for him, perfectly balanced. They cost him the loan of three contracts but it was worth it and… fuck. Now one of them is lying in the fucking snow, cold and moisture eating their way into the metal, great fodder for rust.

Grumbling under his breath, he's about to get up and leave, when Eskel catches his eye and the hands fumbling on his belt. Shit.

"What's wrong, Lambert?" the cheeky fucker drawls, drawing everyone's attention to them, "Don't tell me our super Witcher has lost one of his blades like a toddler during playtime outside."

Eskel, you piece of shit, you'll pay for this.

Scoffing loudly, he leans heavily on the table, glaring at him.

"I'm not an amateur, you prick. As if I'd do something that stupid."

Take that.

+++

"Shit, shit, shit."

Of course it starts to snow heavily at night. He just couldn't make a fool out of himself, not after what he spit out at dinner. So he had to wait for everyone to fall asleep. It's well past midnight and he's out in the cold, freezing his ass off, looking for that blasted dagger without a light to help his eyes. He can see very well in the dark, thank you. Who needs a stupid torch to alert the others to his presence.

Digging through the snow for like an eternity makes his fingers sting from the frigidity. Moving them hurts, warming them too. Gods he hates it. He should have swallowed his pride and gone at dusk, to see anything but endless white everywhere, soaking through his pants and top, drenching his hair and making him shiver.

Stupid snow. Stupid dagger. Stupid Eskel.

Just as he's about to scream in frustration a soft light is drawing closer, feet crunching in the fresh snow. They stop just behind him and he refuses to turn around and face the embarrassment of being caught in the act. When he ignores this hard enough, the other might go away.

_ 'I'll spend my days so close to you 'cos if I'm standing next to you,  _

_ then maybe everyone will think I'm cool.' _

"Need a hand?"

The Witcher has to bite back on a growl. Of course it's the fucking bard. Who else would be better suited to maximise his misery?

"Fuck off, bard. I don't need help, especially not from you."

The answer is but a hum, quiet and even, like he's talking to a feral beast. The light is helpful though. It emanates the ground with a soft glow and he can finally see shit.

"Then I'll just stay here for a bit, keeping you company. Being nothing but silent back up."

Lambert snorts. Geralt had told them how that worked. Silent backup his ass.

But he has not much of a choice. He needs to find that dagger or his hands will freeze off completely. So he keeps digging. And to his surprise it stays eerily quiet.

_ How unfair, how unfair they'll sing as they dance across the darling rooftop wreck.  _

_ You'll trip and I'll pretend not to have seen.' _

Finally -  _ fucking finally  _ \- something reflects the light and catches his eyes. Smoothing away one last hand full of snow, there it finally is.

The dagger!

He nearly whoops in joy as he fishes it out, pressing it to his chest. His hands don't ache that much anymore, it's nearly like they aren't frozen at all. Moving the joints in question, his eyes wander around the area, still being constantly powdered in fresh flakes. Everywhere but here, where he sits, he realises. Turning around to say something snide, the words get stuck in his throat, eyes widening.

There stands the bard, right behind him, glowing like a fallen star that just touched the earth. A pair of bright wings, coloured like dancing flames of fire, growing from Jaskier's back. They hover above Lambert's head, protecting him from the falling snow.

Bathing them both in warm light, he's ethereally beautiful, like perfection melted into the form of a human body. The Witcher can't make himself breath again, afraid to miss a fragment of this moment. It's not that bad to live without air for a while. As long they're here like that, it doesn't matter. Nothing does, he's sure. It whispers to his soul,

_ Don't be afraid. You don't have to be strong. You don't have to hide. Let me take care if you. I got you. _

A dangerous thought. Too dangerous to consider. But it travels far behind these walls he built, to keep things away from hurting him. Hiding him behind a mask of indifference, insults and snark. He feels them crumble, chipped away piece for piece and it feels good. It feels right.

Blue eyes shine like the sea kissed by the sinking sun. The angel smiles, calm and patient, understanding and warm, and the other can feel it inside his soul.

"Well done my dear, let's get back inside. We don't want you to catch a cold."

_ 'Burying my head into your chest and clinging to the moment, 'where have you been?'.  _

_ You'll whisper 'I've waited oh so long for you to come' _

_ and as the stars above them hum and hear them.' _

  
  


Nodding numbly he gets up and a hand placed between his shoulders blades makes him shiver, not in terror but with joy, while they walk side by side, not saying a word, back inside.

+++

"You need to work on your sneaking skills, if you want to follow me around without noticing."

Jaskier freezes in his tracks, hidden behind a shelf in the library. Vesemir noticed him even before he entered the room. The boy was like a bright flame in dark night, attracting all kind of attention without really trying. He noticed his boys being pulled into his gravity and yet to get rid of it again. Eskel and Lambert might deny any of this, but he sees the fleeting glances, occasional touches. If the bard wouldn't be so utterly enthralled with Geralt to begin with, they'd try to woo him themselves he is sure.

Eskel accepted him easily, enjoying to have a partner for conversations, no matter the topic. He smiled easily, softer than he used to.

Lambert had been keeping his distance at first, trying to stay out of reach. Vesemir may be old, but not blind, he feels the subtle shift between them, the dark-haired Witcher slowly inching closer. Still barking, teasing the brunette for his lacking of a firm grip around a blade hilt with the usual bite missing. Observation is a vital skill for their guild, only a prepared Witcher is a breathing Witcher, so he doesn't miss the way Lambert startles whenever Jaskier smiles at him, happy and comfortable and the other doesn't know how to cope.

And then there's Geralt. The boy has always been special, still is. Trouble keeps following him around, he's too good of a person not to get involved. Vesemir trained him well, prepared him for the life on the path the hard way. That life wounded the white-haired man, still does, litters him in wounds and scars and bruises. Yet it seems easier now for him to handle, has been easier for some time. For almost two decades to be exact. He is changed for the better, hopefully for good. The boy merits some happiness.

When the nights get cold and lonely and it's just him traveling the path, sitting by the fire at night, he thinks about what could have been. Where they would be today, if things played out differently. It holds no meaning as it is not true. But it's a thing he can't let go. He let go of enough in his life-time.

So he sits in the library, near the fireplace warming the whole room and draws a chair for the bard to take a seat next to him.

"Come here. I know you're waiting for the story, how I met your kind. You're nearly shaking in excitement."

The brunette's grin becomes even more intense and the old Witcher has to avert his gaze. It feels like looking at a extremely bright light, stunning and stinging at the same time. His heart aches with a reminder of nostalgia. He chases it away, sighing quietly to himself while Jaskier sits down to his right. Once the boy is done, he starts talking,

"Decades ago, I was following the path near Oxenfurt, when I received the contract to free a village from a wyvern. The pay was good, it seemed simple enough, so I blatantly went in for the kill in its mountain layer."

Ah the sins of arrogance. Even he wasn't free from it. Maybe it was foolishness, maybe it was fate. Still it changed his life forever.

"Turned out it wasn't just one wyvern but three of them, identical ones, the villagers couldn't keep them apart. I managed to kill them, depleting all my potions but they sliced me up pretty bad. Suffering from the high toxicity of my blood and bleeding from countless wounds, I stumbled back in the vain hope to somehow make it out alive, collapsing before reaching anywhere close to the village. I accepted to die in that moment. Only a miracle could have saved me and I don't believe in such things. Or better I didn't back then."

The boy is hanging on his every word, intently listening to his story, mouth agape from the plot's tension. It reminded him of the times when Eskel and Geralt were still young, nagging him for new stories everyday. He huffs quietly, then continues,

"I woke up two days later, lying in a bed with my wounds wrapped and nearly healed at that. Even with the advanced healing abilities of a Witcher, it was impossible to heal that fast. That's when I met her."

His voice grows softer though he resents it, remembering the smile of his saviour,

"Her name was Mignole. She introduced herself as a healer, living in the woods alone, outside the village. She found me, barely alive and brought me back to her cottage. She was... unusually gentle and content to bear my presence. The gods know she was a saint, endlessly patient with my reckless arse and never miffed about anything I said. I couldn't deny a certain attraction between us and I was... smitten."

Smitten doesn't really name it, but it's easier to admit he fell in love. With her shy smiles, brown eyes full of light. The hazel hair falling in gentle curls over her shoulders. The feeling of her warm, calloused finger on his skin. The memories alone make him shiver.

_ 'I’ve seen enough' he says 'I know exactly what I want and it’s this life that we’ve created, inundated with the fated thought of you.  _

_ And if you asked me to, if you asked me I would lose it all like petals in a storm, cos darling I was born' _

"Over the years I returned times and times again. She always knew somehow, waiting for me with a warm meal and open arms, offering me a place to rest, like she felt I was coming. One day there had been an illness troubling the villages nearby. The corpse of a drowner had fallen into the stream, exuding blood poisoning the water. I was worried to leave alone after she set out on her own to find the cause and that's how I encountered her using her gift."

It has been one of the most beautiful sights he ever set his eyes on by today. Until his last day, he won't forget her form, illuminated in holy light, a pair of wings on her back.

"She purified the well without my medaillon reacting. It never did around her. She caught me staring and so we sat down, talked about what she was and what she needed to do. Her mission, as she phrased it. I felt dumb for not realising earlier that she was special and selfish for... for feeling drawn to her. The grace she brought was destined for every living creature, still I hoped I could have her by my side one day."

_ 'To press my head between your shoulder blades at night when light is fading just to let you know  _

_ I’m old, waylaid and feels like I am wading into carpet burns and carousels oh gods you’ll be the death of me  _

_ and calm throughout his melodrama, I will turn and say  _

_ "dear heart It’s me, it's me", you don’t need to pretend to be someone you’re not.' _

Jaskier watches him, full of compassion and sympathy. He looks like he has felt that way before and the older Witcher can't shake the nagging thought Geralt is involved in that.

"What happened then?"

Vesemir looks at the book in his hands, distracting himself from the emotion welling up in his chest.

"The village grew suspicious of the lingering presence of a Witcher around their lands. They accused me of unleashing monsters on their settlements, to later come and slay them for reward. They put a bounty on my head and I had to flee. We couldn't even bid each other goodbye, all I left behind was my gambeson and the bitter taste of the things I wanted to tell her, but ultimately never could. After that I stayed away, not wanting to cause her more trouble. We never saw each other again."

He looks up to meet blue eyes, shining with angry tears. "That's so cruel. How could they do that to you? The two of you just wanted to be happy..."

Jaskier's voice is tight, constricted from the conflicting emotions battling inside him. He looks miserably small like this and it calls to his protective side, compelling him to make it better. Vesemir has no doubts why Geralt has fallen for the boy. He's something else for sure.

Putting one arm around the other's frame, he can feel him tremble in his hold. Giving him a reassuring squeeze, he hums.

"You know some things are just not meant to be. It does not make our life any less rich or worth it. Time heals many wounds and who knows. Maybe one fateful day, we will meet again and laugh about it. Experience shapes us into what we are and helps us to realise what we truly want, if we're wise enough to listen."

The chances are slim but if he learned something throughout his life, it is that even the wildest things can come true. Feeling Jaskier nod more than he can see it, the young man leans closer, nestling his head on the Witcher's shoulder in the search for comfort. Vesemir doesn't stop him and the solid weight against his side quenches the longing inside the Witcher's heart and he feels calm again. Settled.

Jaskier's a good guy. He'll make Geralt happy, Vesemir is sure of that. He silently pats his back.

A good one indeed.

+++

The gates of Kaer Morhen open once more a week later, another Witcher trudging up the snowy path besides the trainings grounds, making his way inside the fortress. He's huge just like the others, a thick coat protecting him from the biting wind. Geralt sees him from afar and breathes in the familiar scent of the Griffin Witcher from the small plateau he keeps watch from. Vesemir is tutoring Ciri today, both of them hiding away in the library to have some peace. Most people tend to fill their time off with pleasurable things. He prefers to make himself useful - with Eskel preparing food in the kitchen and Lambert gone to get more firewood, there's a bland taste to slacking off.

Stepping down the narrow stairs, he catches his old companion just outside the main door. "We didn't think you'd join us this season."

The man just throws his head back, barking in laughter. "As if I would miss your company for anything in this world! A contract kept me longer than I intended, but not forever. Come, let us go inside, I can't wait to hear of all the adventures you had. You made yourself rare in the last year."

He did. To keep Jaskier company and after losing him on the mountain, he was too caught up in his shame and grief to return. Not willing to face his fellow Witchers in his emotional unstable condition.

They hardly passed the threshold when their arrival is discovered.

"Coen? Melitele's grace how long has it been?" Jaskier flies towards them, lightened up with joy and greets the other man with open arms, who pulls him into a tight bear hug.

"Little lark, it must been years! You look marvelous, it's good to see you well."

It takes a moment for realisation to settle in. The sight of his bard inside another Witcher's arms irks him, though he tries to hide it. There's no need for jealousy, neither Jaskier nor Coen would ever hurt his feelings willingly. The two of them are engrossed in lively conversation when they enter the hall. Eskel and Lambert are present too, visibly irritated by the close acquaintanceship the Griffin and the lark share.

Three pairs of yellow eyes narrow during closely observing the exchange before them. Eskel is the first to speak up.

"Jaskier, you never told us you were friends with another Witcher." the phrase is innocent, enquiring, the Wolf smiling along. Only a thin thread of envy laces the words, barely audible to someone not looking for it. Coen seems to catch on that very well, smirking like the cheeky bastard he is.

"Oh he surely just missed to mention it Eskel, but you can believe me when I tell you - this songbird here saved my life," he casually sits down next to the brunette, leaning far too close into his personal space,

"You see, he was the only one to take mercy on me, when I turned up at an inn, just a few coins short to afford both food and board. The sweet thing treated me for a good meal and even saw to my wounds. It was most gratuitous and I'm still looking for a chance to repay my debt to him."

Coen wraps an arm around the bard's body, pulling him closer by a tad, which forces a synchronous growl from the three wolves present. His grin borders on being grotesque and Geralt wrestles with the urge to wipe it off his face. With a pointed slap to the broad chest, Jaskier snorts and skids away, bringing a normal distance between them.

"Enough of this foolishness! Don't raise their hackles more than necessary Coen, I won't save your hind from their wrath if they choose to sink their teeth inside. And you guys-"

he's firmly looking at the pack of Wolf Witchers, slumping like chastised children,

"Show some manners and get the table set. Yennefer won't join us tonight as she's busy of making Nilfgaard lose our trail but Ciri is surely ravenous from enduring the endless lecture of dear Vesemir and your old friend here deserves some hospitality as well."

The three of them begrudgingly scatter to follow the order, restoring the fire and setting the table just in time for Ciri and Vesemir joining them. The girl is more than willing to share her progress and her tutor nods along. Pride swells in his chest, seeing her so happy and content, surrounded by those he considers family. She will make a great fighter one day, if not the best there is. The promise of Coen to teach her some more finesse with the blades makes her cheerier as he has ever seen her before, the danger of Nilfgaard's shadow forgotten for once. He wants it to last longer. Always if he were to choose.

The evening turns into a comfortable gathering, full of roaring laughter, stories, a few rounds of Gwent and good food with mulled wine. All of them are relaxed, unguarded and enjoying the mood. Ciri is slowly nodding off in his arms, where she snuggled in while his brothers in arms began to recite tales of their more exciting adventures. Jaskier is sitting on the table now, legs propped up on a chair, while he sings his newest creation for the audience. His voice is incredibly soft, tenderly cradling every word, sinking and rising just in the right moments.

_ 'It’s not fair, It’s not fair how much I love you. It’s not fair, cos you make me laugh when I’m actually really fucking cross at you for something _

_ And you’ll say _

_ Oh how oh how unreasonable. How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do, I’ll spend my days so close to you cos if I’m standing here maybe everyone will think I’m alright.' _

During all of the song, a light smile dances on his rosy lips, flushed with wine and the warmth of the fire nearby. Amber eyes watch his every move, take in each and every little gesture and just can't find the strength to stay away from the man that holds his heart. Ciri shifts in his embrace, hiding her face closer against his neck, her soft breathing tickles sensitive skin.

It feels oddly domestic and somehow, he can't bring himself to mind.

+++

"You really tamed yourself a pack of wolves and a griffin, I'm impressed."

Way past midnight, they decided to call it a night and he made sure to bring Ciri to his quarters. Tucking her in and closing the curtains, so the sun wouldn't bother her in the morning, he made his way back to his own chamber that had barely changed through all the years he inhabited it. Geralt asked the bard to stay with him tonight and he had eagerly accepted, going ahead while he was putting the little one to bed.

Though Yennefer entrusted him with a fair share of his own clothing, Jaskier still took pleasure in sneaking his garments here and then. As he enters the room, muttering under his breath of what he just realised, the other is standing near the bed, draped in his own pair of pants but Geralt's black well-worn tunic and the sight does things to him. He has troubles breathing for a moment. Jaskier is a sight to behold and he clings to his last shreds of self-control to not just pull him close, rip away the fabric hiding his alluring body and to lavish it with attention. The brunette's smile is docile, a bit cheeky and he looks at the Witcher like he is the most beautiful thing in the world.

"I guess I did so without even trying to, so I count myself lucky."

He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, body sinking in a nodge before reaching out for the other.

"Come here, my white wolf. You are the only one I wish to be with."

A flare of possessiveness and pride jolts through him, a pleased growl tumbling from his lips and he joins his lover on the mattress. They end up tangled together, bodies close with no inch of space left in between. Burying his nose in the soft locks, he takes in the scent that reminds him of joy and home. Just some years back, he would have never believed to find anything similar to this for himself. Not after all the things he has done. Yet here they are, after twenty years of doubts, warm touches, regret and dancing around each other. After pain and tears, hope and heartbreak. Together at last.

The Witcher is happy and he'd endure it times over again, if only it brings him back here. Closing his eyes, soaking in the pleasant feeling of just holding Jaskier and being held, his heart soars.

_ 'It’s not fair, it's not fair how much I love you. It’s not fair cos you make me ache you bastard. _

_ And you'll say _

_ Oh how, oh how unreasonable. How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do, I’ll spend my days so close to you cos if I’m stood here, then I’m stood here and I’ll stand here. _

_ I’ll stand here with you.' _

Jaskier is fast asleep, his deep breathing luring him in to join and he breathes out what lingers in his heart,

"I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it ♡ the end.
> 
> I'm happy about every feedback or comment left 😘 so please don't be shy, you guys help me so so much through my daily struggles.
> 
> Also if someone might be swayed to do fanart about this or write a spinoff etc, please make sure to tag me in the social medias so I can spread all the love for yiur amazing work!


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